Phantom of the Opera: My version
by PhanforLife
Summary: Everyone knows Phantom of the Opera didn't end the right way, so here is my version of the classic story. Based on the 2004 movie. Blatantly E/C, Raoul fans should run.
1. Chapter 1

**Phantom of the Opera: My Story**(Part One)

**CHAPTER ONE:**

**Christine POV**

The girls of the rich countryside in west Paris stood beneath the roof of my father's house, which overhung a porch, chatting about the weird girl. Me, Christine Daae.

Not that I really noticed at the time, I was too busy dodging crossfire of snowballs to feel that insecure. Then again, I was only seven, so I don't know if I'd ever felt insecure before.

I was a rambunctious little hellion, as agile as a monkey and as cunning as a fox, yet as graceful as a swallow. I was completely different than any of the others, and glad to be. I saw no fun in long boring parties, or posing for boys. I'd rather batter them with snowballs, which I was currently doing.

I had many companions within the ranks of the rich boys, many of which as well versed in roughhousing as any of the farm boys or gypsies that lived on many of the same countryside roads. I had learned from them how to play like a boy, better than most of them, to tell you the truth.

Often on afternoons, I wouldn't be daydreaming of a princess in a fairy tale or of the handsomest man in the world. I usually would be thinking of a life of adventure: swordfights and kidnappers! I would dream of being kidnapped sometimes, I liked the idea as a child.

This of course was the most shocking news to the lords and ladies of the country. A girl shouldn't act rough. She should be genteel and discreet! They would often scold me about this, wagging their pudgy pampered fingers. They all wanted their little sons and daughters to marry other little sons and daughters, just to keep the fortune within the aristocracy. What surprised me was that all the daughters agreed!

I couldn't imagine marrying a rich pretty boy, sitting around the house all day. I had pictured marrying someone exciting, full of danger with actual personality. Many who I imagined as candidates when I was little would have made the woman swoon in shock. None of them wanted their daughters to marry pirates or gypsies.

Luckily for me, my father thought the same way as I did. He was a man of the people, and I suppose that's where I got my strong sense of social justice. We would never turn a blind eye to the weary traveler, and would help anyone who asked.

He, unlike many other parents, hadn't betrothed me to anyone yet, and I was grateful for that. Though I had matured enough to enjoy the idea of marriage, I did not want to be tied down, and certainly not with the boy everyone chose for me.

The only boy I could be betrothed to would be have to match my father's fortune, making him the richest boy in the entire countryside. Unfortunately, he was also the most annoying. To my displeasure, he had just pulled up to our winter home.

The carriage he rode in was fit to carry his entire family, but he was far too self-absorbed to ride with another person. A page jumped out of nowhere and opened the door, which had the insignia of a pigeon on it.

He stepped down onto the slushy snow, hardly getting any of it on his nearly matching boots. His thin, quite gangly, legs where stuck in overly tight hose, slightly hidden by his jaunty riding coat. Long, girlish hair, shinier than the silver coins that more than certainly inhabited his pocket, curled around his ears and jaw line in a somewhat cute manner. The girls beneath the porch sighed with infatuation. Raoul de Chagny had made his entrance.

I rolled my eyes. He was such a stuck-up little creep! Every girl was smitten with him, only because of his massive wealth, and supposed 'good looks'. I didn't see what was that attractive about him, but then again, I was only seven at that time. I tried to make it known I loathed him, but it obviously didn't matter, for of all the girls I had the most money, instantly crowning me the object of his affections. I didn't have to deal with him for the moment, for the young ballerina girl I had been talking with shortly before the snowball fight ensued came back from the washroom.

Father had been hoping to sign me up in with the Paris Opera House's ballet program. I was actually quite pleased with this decision. I was immensely interested in dance and theatre, having seen many productions during the summers. I had practiced ice-skating ever since I was four on the nearby pond to perfect my form and Father had finally decided to let me pursue dancing seriously.

So, he had invited the ballet mistress to his annual winter gala. It hadn't turned out as boring as I thought it would be, for she had brought along her daughter, who was about my age.

I liked this girl, which was a surprise because I didn't have that many friends. She seemed less cowardly than the others I had met up to then.

"Oh, ballerina girl! Ballerina girl!" I called, for I had forgotten her name. She laughed, sprinting over to me while ducking to avoid a rather chunky snowball.

"My name is Meg, Miss Daae," she reminded me, not offended I had forgotten.

"Oh, all right," I agreed, liking her friendly disposition. She smiled for a moment before catching sight of something over my shoulder. Her mouth dropped open and her eyes widen in adoration. I turned to see what she gawked at. Of course, it was Raoul. Behind him stood his nearly identical brother Philippe who was sulking the background (he was very shy by nature). So he hadn't ridden alone after all. I should applaud him.

"Who is that?" she asked, sounding as if she wasn't fully conscious. I made a noise of disgust and she looked at me with confusion.

"You don't like him?" she asked, surprised. I shook my head furiously.

"He's terrible! He keeps following me around trying to kiss me!"

Meg giggled shyly, her gaze still on Raoul.

"Maybe he likes you. Maybe he wants to marry you!" she suggested, tittering softly. Raoul had spotted us, but was distracted by his page. He looked over at me with his dazzling blue eyes.

"I'll be there in a moment, Little Lotte," he called to me with a grin that showed his perfectly white teeth.

I narrowed my hazel eyes with annoyance at him, but he had already looked away. Meg obviously didn't see this either.

"Aw! He has a pet name for you! How~"

"He doesn't even know my name!" I hollered at her, deeply disgusted by what he had called me. I absolutely _despised _that name ever since he started calling me that.

"He doesn't?" She seemed confused.

"He thinks my name is Charlotte," I muttered quietly, withdrawing after my sudden outburst.

"Your name isn't Charlotte?" I turned away with clenched fists to stop myself from giving her a dirty look. I jumped back, startled by the sudden nearness of Raoul. I regained my composure, pushing my snow-covered hair behind my ear.

"Good day, Raoul. I must be going now~" He caught my wrist and spun me back around.

"I have to talk with you," he insisted ignorant to my animosity. I raised a questioning eyebrow, shaking my hand free and bending over.

"I'm sorry, I really have to~" He whirled me around again, but this time I was ready.

Taking the handful of snow I had picked up, I slammed the cold powder into his handsome face. There were cries of horror all around, including from him, but I didn't mind. In fact, I was actually smiling. Served him right, calling me that disgusting name.

He wiped the cold flakes off his cheeks, flushed red at this point.

"What'd you do that for?" he asked, the whine prevalent in his voice. I laughed, shrugging my shoulders. He shook his head, removing the excess snow.

"Well, you should be glad it didn't get on my suit, do you know how much this~ AH!"

He screamed, for I had just smeared snow onto his brand new shirt with my other hand.

"It costs a lot less now!" I told him cheerfully, dusting my hands off in a 'job well done' manner. Meg had backed up, obviously wanting him to know she didn't support any of what I was doing.

He jumped around like an idiot for a moment, before brushing off the rather small clump of snow from his jacket. He glared up at me, very offended by my action. Served him right, last week he nearly ripped the arm off my toy monkey when he wanted to see it.

"Why do you insist on torturing me?" he yelled, holding the wet spot on his jacket as though it were a battle wound. I smiled devilishly, as he asked.

"No one else will," I replied, laughing as I said it. He pouted as he scowled, nearly making me scream with mirth.

"Well, you better start being nicer to me, Little Lotte!" I winced. Oh, how I hated that name! "We're going to be betrothed soon!"

I nearly gagged. Betrothed? Father hadn't told me about that!

"We are not!" I retorted childishly, more confidently than I felt. It was more than probable that we were betrothed or going to be. Especially with the amount of money Raoul's family had inherited so quickly.

"Yes, we are!" he protested back, hands on his hips. I crossed my arms, biting my lip to stop from pouting as well.

"Father would never let me marry a… a girly boy!" I insulted quickly, trying to distract Raoul. I really did not want to envision our wedding. I might be sick. Thankfully, my ploy worked. He turned deepest red, bordering on maroon.

"I'm not girly!" he screeched at me, flicking his long hair over his shoulder. I smirked.

"Yes, you are. You can't even take a snowball!" I jeered, laughing to increase his embarrassment. He jabbed his finger at me angrily.

"Oh, yeah? Well, I dare you to come out on the pond with me!" he challenged, pointing to the frozen lake which had been populated by ducks that summer. I looked at him, unimpressed.

I ice-skated every winter, and he was daring _me_ to come out on the ice with him? There really was no challenge in that. It wasn't the usual pond I skated on, but it surely wasn't that much different?

I shrugged, following him over to it.

"Are you sure that's safe, Charlotte?" Meg called to me, forgetting that wasn't my name. I waved her concern away. It was a pond, what harm would it do to me?

**Third person POV**

Gustave Daae had finally gotten the chance to talk with the woman he had been meaning to speak to all day: Antoinette Giry. The other blue bloods had tried to hog him for hours at a time, and he had just snuck away from the last of them.

He knew the taut faced woman was the ballet mistress at the Paris Opera House, for they had met once before. She stood near the corner, looking out the window at the children playing in the front garden. He was excited to speak with her. His little Christine was suited to be a ballerina, and would most likely climb to the ranks of a leading lady.

"Antoinette!" he cried, hurrying over to her.

"Monsieur! I had been thinking I would never get to talk with you!" she chortled softly, pulling him over to the corner.

"Your daughter seems quite keen to dance, I saw her frolicking around in the yard. A little jumping frog, she is!" she joked, taking a sip of wine from her goblet. He laughed, so deeply it was like the rumble of thunder.

"Yes, she's quite an agile girl, and feisty like her mother!" He paused with remembrance. "I didn't marry who everyone thought I would, you know, but I suppose arranged marriages are never meant to last, don't you agree?" Antoinette just gazed at him thoughtfully.

"Gustave, I don't mean to intrude, but… all of Paris is talking about it. Are you accepting the Viscomtess de Chagny's offer?" His smile faded, as he shook his head.

"It's not that I don't approve of her son. Raoul is quite the handsome boy, but I've always felt it is up to Christine to decide who she wants to marry." Madame Giry surveyed him with her eagle eyes.

"No matter if she married someone beneath her?" she questioned curiously.

"I would be happy for her if she married… the ugliest man in all of Paris!"

Madame Giry made a face, which made Gustave suspicious she really did know the ugliest man in all of Paris.

He noticed her looking over his shoulder and gave her a questioning look.

"Didn't you tell everyone that no one was allowed on the pond?" she asked, to his surprise. He thought he had gone over this at the beginning of the evening.

"Yes, it's very unstable, and someone could fall through the ice. Why?" She pointed over his shoulder and he turned.

Stepping tentatively across the pond was Raoul de Chagny and Christine.

**Christine POV**

I pushed myself effortlessly across the ice, laughing at Raoul who stumbled and shuffled along, barely off the short embankment. I glided a couple of figure eights, waving to Meg who stood on the bank. Raoul looked over at me, struggling to move.

"Stop laughing at me!" he complained, very immaturely.

I just laughed all the more, singing, "Raoul can't skate! Raoul can't skate!" He didn't seem to be mad; rather he looked utterly mesmerized by my voice. I smiled to myself. My father had trained me himself, and blessed me with a secret angel. The Angel of Music to be exact.

I had never met my angel, but I often dreamed of the adventures we could have. Whenever I thought of a husband, I imagined of someone like my angel, not knowing his exact features.

Raoul seemed to shake himself from whatever stupor he had just been in, and returned to his attempts to stand.

I watched him for a while, merely for entertainment. I suppose if I hadn't, I would have seen the cracks in the ice that were beginning to form.

"Charlotte! Look out!" Meg called from the bank. I would have ignored her, had it not been for the sensation of shifting ice beneath my feet. I looked where I was going.

The ice had split open to a large frosty pool of water and I was heading straight for it. I tried to slow down, but my legs went numb. I was sliding uncontrollably towards the gaping, mouth-like hole, and cold water as blue as Raoul's eyes. I screamed, swinging my arms like windmills, to slow myself down.

Suddenly, someone caught me around the middle and threw me over top of the hole. I collapsed on the far bank, and looked around to see who my rescuer was.

I turned in time to see my father slip down the crack and into the icy water.

"PAPA!" I howled, nearly jumping in after him. He surfaced, gulping air down greedily as he tried to pull himself out.

"Papa, papa!" I cried, forgetting I was much too old to call him such a name. I stretched my hand out, but he didn't take it.

"Y-you aren't st-strong enough, Chrissy," he told me, pushing it away. I knew then that he wasn't all right, for he only called me Chrissy when he was seriously distressed.

Large servants who usually dealt with the horses suddenly appeared, throwing me roughly aside. I toppled into the snow face first, but pulled myself out quickly so I could look back at Father. They pulled him out and stood him up on his quivering legs.

He was shaking like mad and his face was bluish in colour. He collapsed backwards into the servants' arms and I heard him mumble, "Send the guests home, and get the doctor."

It was a long and restless night for me. I tried to get to sleep, but just when I'd drift off, I'd wake up all clammy and cold. Poor Papa, I was too young to realize what had happened to him. It was two in the morning when my maid, Margery, shook me awake.

"Your father is ill, and is dying," she told me in a whisper, causing me to cry out in shock. "He wants to see you."

I let her drag me from the room, feeling half dead. Father was going to die; I would never see him again. I had learned what dying meant when Mother had passed, but Father had always been there for me. Now he would be gone, and I'd never be with him ever again.

I burst into the room, rushing to his bedside. He lay as still as a corpse in his bed, his face blank as one as well.

"Papa?" I asked, unsurely. His eyes flickered over to me.

"My Christine," he murmured, his hand finding my cheek and cupping it gently.

"Papa, oh, Papa! What's going to happen to me? I won't be able to live without you!" I wailed, not fully understanding then what that meant. His thumb pressed over my lips, like it always did when I was upset.

"You'll go to the opera house, and you will be the greatest singer in Paris someday," he promised, probably a little delirious at this time.

"But Papa, you're the only one who can teach me to sing! How will I be able to be the greatest in all of Paris?" I questioned, grasping his deathly cold hand. I could tell he was fading fast, and so could he.

"My child," he whispered, his voice growing hoarse. "When I am in Heaven, I will send you the Angel of Music, and he ~" He broke off, coughing so harshly his entire body racked in pain.

He fell back, his eyes starting to close. I clung to him tighter, desperate not to let him go.

"Christine…"

"Yes, Papa?" With all the energy he had left, he gave my hand one last squeeze.

"It is your choice," he whispered and exhaled for the last time.

Only then did it truly sink in. There would be no more late evening violin playing, or feeding the ducks in the summer. I wouldn't wake up to his smiling face, or ice skate with him. No more tales of the Angel of Music, and no more adventure games.

There was nothing now. My world was nothing without him, and I would never have him back again.

Only then did I begin to cry.

###


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO:**

**Erik POV**

How many terrible singers were at the Opera Populaire? Well, more than I cared to hear lets put it that way. Even worse to hear were the stories. More specifically, stories of me.

The Opera Ghost is evil. The Opera Ghost will murder an innocent girl in the blink of an eye! At least, according to them I would.

I had no such intentions that early on. I certainly could have caused that much trouble, of course, but there was no need for it. Christine hadn't arrived then.

I don't exactly know when she came. I just remember it was early January when I first heard someone crying in the chapel.

Crying wasn't all that special to tell the truth. I would occasionally make girls cry with my frightening shadow on the walls, and amazing illusions, but mainly the ballerinas whimpered late at night because of ghost stories and arguments earlier on that day. Not one of them cried over their dead parents, which was probably why I was drawn to Christine from the start.

I had often thought this crying was from an angel at first, for when I investigated, I found no one to be there. But eventually I spotted a young ballerina with black curls and hazel eyes weeping at the altar.

She intrigued me. I had never seen anyone cry here before. Everyone else would simply light a candle, say a prayer or two and depart, but she would stay for hours at a time.

I stayed silent at first, just watching her and not responding to her grieving, but steadily I developed an unexplainable fondness for her.

Maybe it was because she didn't believe the gruesome rumors that the others spread of me, or because she asked God to bless the outcasts like me, or maybe it was simply because she had an odd beauty to her. She wasn't the innocent little damsel that wins the heart of every man she meets. In reality she was actually quite plain. But something about her struck a flame within me that had never been lit before, and I eventually had to respond to her requests.

"Child, why do you weep so?" I called to her softly, watching her perk her head up wildly like a lamb at the bark of a sheepdog.

"Wh-who's there?" she called out, warily. I was glad she hadn't run like the other girls. She seemed much braver. I knew what to answer. I had been listening to her prayers long enough.

"I am your angel, my child. Your father has sent me, and I have finally found you," I told her sweetly, feeling as though I were the snake coaxing Eve to eat the apple. Her bright young face lit up with utter joy, and I didn't regret calling out so much.

"Oh, my Angel! I've waited so long for you!" she told me, looking around the room, for she wasn't quite sure where I resided. I turned a knob that connected to her father's candle, making it glow brighter. She let her gaze rest on this, content to think I was the burning flame.

"I have waited long to find you as well, ma Cherie," I told her, though still not exactly sure why such a young girl had provoked such a kinder side of me.

She seemed quite happy by this, smiling at the candle.

"My child, I wish to know your name." I knew she was going to wonder why (she was very inquisitive by nature), so I explained. "Your father had no time to tell me when he arrived, child."

This satisfied her, and she nodded to show she understood.

"My name is Christine, my Angel." Christine…the name burned in my mind like it had been branded there. It was beautiful, a shame I couldn't tell her mine. But, I was sure she would be content to call me her Angel, for now…

"Angel… will you teach me how to sing?" she asked in a whisper, as if afraid I would say no. I considered it for a moment. Surely she couldn't be worse than La Carlotta?

"I will need to hear you sing first, Christine," I replied, bracing myself in case she was terrible. She nodded and opened her mouth in song.

There was talent there, oh yes, definite talent, but her voice was unused, raw and in need of training. She didn't know her range yet. Understandable for a nine-year old, but that would have to be fixed. She attempted a note that was far too high, and I winced a little. She seemed to know it was off and silenced.

"Angel?" She called after a moment, looking frightened that I was gone.

"I'm still here, Christine," I assured her, making the candle glow brighter.

"D-did I do well?" I smiled. Such an innocent question! I liked her better than the other sopranos already.

"Yes, but you will still need training." This didn't offend her apparently, for she nodded and smiled cheerfully.

"I will train you later, Christine," I promised her, realizing how late it was. Madame Giry would slaughter me if I kept little Christine up too long.

"What? Why?" she asked, sounding upset I was leaving so soon.

"I am only allowed away from Heaven for a short time, Christine." _Not that you'll ever go to Heaven,_ the voice in my head scolded me, but I shooed it away.

She nodded sadly.

"Goodnight, Fa~ I mean, Angel," she corrected, for she had nearly called me Father. I laughed softly.

"I will tell your father goodnight for you, little one," I told her, just to see her smile again which she did, more cheerfully than ever.

"All right. Goodnight, and goodbye, Angel!" She danced away from the room, the happiest girl in the world. I smiled to myself.

It was strange, but I liked the sensation of helping her. Maybe it wouldn't be that bad to keep my word, to give her lessons. I certainly wanted to see her again.

Besides, what harm would ever come to me?


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE:**

**Christine POV**

I twirled around on my toe, making sure my back was straight. Madame Giry's cane kept the time behind me and the other girls, just threatening enough to keep us on beat.

I had been late this morning, for I spent the previous night with my Angel learning the lead part in Hannibal. He didn't tell me why, but I just assumed it was because my voice fitted the role.

I was dancing a little off to the side, apart from the main troupe like I always was. Even now that I was part of the Ballet Company, I was still as much of a misfit as I had been in the countryside. I was the only one who didn't believe in that Phantom nonsense, and the only one who talked to a supposedly "imaginary" Angel.

I wasn't crazy like they thought. My Angel was real. As real the stage we were dancing on, for goodness sake! But of course, they didn't believe what they couldn't see or hear, and I doubted my Angel would appear to them any time soon.

They were all gossipers and drinkers. Many a night a girl would come into the dormitory drunk or at least significantly tipsy. They had many boyfriends and catfights were as common as seagulls by the ocean.

I however, was a kind hearted, proper young woman, who refrained from drinking and smoking at all costs. Rigorous training and the wrath of Madame Giry had driven away most of my childhood stubbornness, but I still had some left, hidden deep within me. It was hectic enough as it was without my former headstrong personality.

The stage around us was chaos, with the orchestra trying to get settled, sweepers brushing the floor, coincidentally in the exact spot where we were dancing, much to Madame Giry's annoyance.

Performers fought for props, stagehands climbed up the ladders to their posts, probably tipsy already, although it was only nine in the morning. Madame Giry's cane brought me back to my senses.

"Miss Daae! Pay attention!" she barked from across the hall, and I straightened from my slouched position.

_Focus Christine, _I told myself, sashaying across the floor. _Your Angel will teach you again tonight. No use worrying if he'll show up or not_.

Sometimes I had doubts about myself. Well a lot of the time actually. I wondered if I were pretty enough, if people actually liked me. Occasionally I imagined my Angel walking out on me, leaving me alone.

But whenever I went down to the chapel, he was there singing songs to me in my head. He never left me alone, though others would. He gave me joy. I never felt truly happy unless he was there with me. He was like a secret friend, a companion when I had none.

It was silly, as he was immortal and I was only a sixteen-year-old girl, but when I couldn't sleep, I pictured what it would be like if he fell in love with me. He had captured my imagination and I suppose part of my heart as well. It was a childish dream of mine, and I was a very childish girl as well. I knew it would never come true. He would never fall in love with such a… clumsy little girl!

He'd be more likely to fall for someone like La Carlotta… well, maybe not her.

I winced, while she stood on stage, belting out some of the most horrible notes I had ever heard. I spotted the opera house's manager, Monsieur Lefevre, walking up in between the seats, two other men in his company.

I wondered why he was here; he hadn't come to rehearsals in months.

Monsieur Lefevre, to Reyer and Carlotta's deepest annoyance, called the rehearsal to a pause.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, as you know there has been rumors of my imminent retirement, and these are all true," he announced, to my displeasure. I had rather liked Monsieur Lefevre; he had always been so kind to me when I couldn't be with my Angel. The men behind him seemed rather unconcerned with anyone but themselves.

La Carlotta seemed not to care, for she turned to her partner, Ubaldo Piangi, and let out a loud, "HA!" He looked away from her, obviously not wanting to hear her boast, which she proceeded to do.

"These are the two men taking over my position, Monsieur Gilles Andre, and Monsieur Richard Firmin!" Everyone gave them a round of applause, some looking bored, others interested.

"I'm sure you have read of their recent fortune from the junk business."

"Scrap metal," muttered Andre, looking slightly irked.

A girl beside me whispered to her friend, "They must be rich!" I rolled my eyes. Was that all that people cared about these days?

"And we are pleased to introduce our latest patron, the Vicomte de Chagny!" I looked around. A man in a dark grey suit and long girlish hair walked up to the men, shaking each of their hands in turn. Another man, who I recognized as his brother Philippe, walked behind him. Raoul overshadowed him significantly however, and Philippe stood bashfully to the side.

"It's Raoul," I murmured softly, horrified. I hadn't seen him in ages, could he really have changed, matured a little? He answered my question by flicking his hair over his shoulder. I sighed; same old Raoul.

Meg, who looked quite attracted by him (he was admittedly quite handsome even now), looked around at me surprised.

"You know him?" she asked, sounding surprised and happy. She had forgotten about the day of ice-skating, and obviously was hoping to talk to him. But then again, what girl (other than me) wouldn't?

"I guess you could say we were childhood sweethearts," I replied, trying to force a smile and not a grimace.

_Yes, we acted like perfect sweethearts, if you include pestering each other to death in that category, _I thought to myself bitterly. It would be best to stay silent and not draw any attention to myself. Raoul loved attention more than I did, so I figured he wouldn't be scouring the ballerinas for me.

"Oh, Christine, he's so handsome!" Meg cried, looking as though she'd swoon. I didn't reply, watching Raoul efficiently keep Philippe so far back, you could hardly see him.

I contented myself with imagining my Angel's visit tonight. Now there was someone who was handsome, I was sure.

"My parents and I are glad to support all the arts, especially the world renowned Opera Populaire," Raoul told the crowd, smiling so perfectly I was nearly sick on the spot.

_Only because it puts money in your pocket, little fraud!_ I thought to myself, so Meg wouldn't hear and scold me. If she wanted to run after some rich boy, fine, but I certainly did not want to get mixed up with this madness.

Raoul was introduced to the leading lady and man, at which point I lost all interest. What a bore those two were! I wished the rehearsals would start up again, I wasn't that comfortable with a certain move and I needed to practice badly.

He turned to leave, Philippe skittering after him. He walked right past where Meg and I stood and I held my breath. Fortunately, he didn't seem to notice me and I breathed an inward sigh of relief.

"He wouldn't recognize me," I told her, glad of this fact. Meg seemed to think I was being wistful.

"He didn't see you," she murmured back with assurance. I didn't want to be assured that he would recognize me. I'd rather not see his face again!

"Girls, if you please!" Madame Giry called, and the other ballerinas and I who were dressed as very scanty captives hurried on to centre stage, throwing ourselves on the floor in a very un-prisoner like way in time to the music.

La Carlotta began to screech out some garbled Italian words, which probably didn't have anything to do with the opera. Still dancing, I couldn't joke about this with Meg, so I settled on pirouetting as perfectly as I could to make her jealous.

She was too busy, screaming her song in the face of the new managers, who were eyeing up the more indecently dressed ballerinas.

The song ended and we froze in our spots, waiting for applause that did not come. I was quite happy that I hadn't stumbled in my usual spot, it was about time I started improving.

Meg and I walked off stage, as Madame Giry rounded on some girls who were very late. They were in for it. She had one of the worst tempers in the opera house!

Meg and I were re-dusting our slippers when we heard Carlotta's shrieks.

"I QUIT!" she screamed as high as her soprano voice could go. I shook my head. That woman quit nearly every week, and she still came back the next.

"Diva," I whispered to Meg, and she nodded, widening her eyes in agreement.

"Get my doggie, bring my doggie. Bye-bye!" Carlotta yelled at her maids, who jumped with fright and hurried to fetch her white poodle. I pitied the poor creature. I'd hate to be caught within her fleshy arms day and night.

Andre and Firmin skittered after her, begging her to return. It seemed they had picked up on what to do fairly easily. Maybe that was customary in the junk~ I mean, scrap metal business as well.

I looked around in time to hear the newest of Carlotta's complaints.

"And, I 'ate my 'at!" she shrieked at the new managers, pointing to the bobble covered gaudy thing she wore on her head. Well, at least she and I agreed on something.

"Please, signora, a private rendition?" Firmin pleaded in what I could tell was his most persuasive tone. He was really laying it on thick, and it was only his first day! I could tell nothing good would come out of these new managers.

But Carlotta seemed to think so, for, after a long session of pretend crying, she smiled appreciatively and replied, "If my managers command."

Andre looked over at Lefevre and clucked his tongue in a "that wasn't so hard" way.

"Don't you t'ink, Monsieur Reyer?" she asked, looking quite smug with herself. I narrowed my eyes. How on earth had she ever attained such a position when she sounded like a rusty door hinge? Reyer seemed to think along the same lines as me.

"If my diva commands," he muttered back, sounding quite bitter to waste his conducting skill for La Carlotta.

"I do! Now go, go, go!" she ordered, shooing him down to the orchestra pit. Poor old Reyer, stuck doing Carlotta's bidding. He needed to retire with Lefevre!

I leaned against the fake elephant machine as I watched her trill out what should have been a stunning song.

"_Think of me; think of me fondly when we've said Goodbye!"_

I could see the cleaners stuffing their ears with cotton for protection, and I looked around, wondering if I could find some nearby.

"_Remember me, once in a while. Please promise me you'll try!"_

I noticed Andre wince a little at one of her particularly louder screeches, and glance at his partner. His expression was one of forced approval in case Carlotta looked over.

"_When you find, that once again you long to take your heart back and be freeeeee…."_

I heard the squeak of set drops overhead, but thought nothing of it at the time. Suddenly Meg screamed and pulled me back as a canvas screen crashed upon La Carlotta.

I stood staring at her fat bodice sticking from beneath it and began to laugh, making sure she couldn't hear me of course. She didn't like me enough as it was, no need to make it worse.

She screamed and banged on the floor as everyone milled around yelling to all within earshot about the incident, though everyone had seen.

"He's here! The Phantom of the Opera," Meg whispered in my ear. I turned to tell her the Phantom didn't exist and it was a freak accident, when Joseph Buquet, or as I liked to call him, the Don Juan of the Opera Populaire, leaned over the edge of the gears that hooked onto the collapsed set.

"Please, don't look at me, sir! With God as my witness I wasn't at my post!" he explained to the new managers, red in the face from the obvious effort to get there.

_I'm sure you weren't, Buquet. Probably groping the first girl you could lay your hands on weren't you?_ I thought to myself, stepping closer to Meg. I didn't like Bouquet; I was afraid one day he'd try to touch me like he did the other girls, and that certainly was not allowed to happen. Madame Giry had nearly slapped the skin off his face last time she caught him molesting one of the ballerinas.

"Please, monsieur there's no one there! Or if there is, well then, he must be a ghost!" He gave me a wicked glance as he said this. I knew why.

Everyone thought it might be the Opera Ghost who I heard and talked to, even though he didn't exist. A man living beneath the opera house? What nonsense the ballerinas came up with! I couldn't convince anyone it was an Angel I talked to, except Madame Giry. She seemed to believe me quite confidently.

Andre, who looked a bit unnerved by Buquet's grim statement, smiled forcefully at Carlotta who had just been propped up on her feet.

"Signora, these things do happen," he tried to assure her, taking her hand. She slapped it away, looking deeply offended.

"Until d'ees t'ings stop 'appening, this t'ing does not 'appen!" she threatened, so seriously, I was sure that she meant it this time.

Turning to her obese partner, she wailed, "Ubaldo, andiamo! Get my baggie and poochie, good bye!"

He watched her stalk off, her hips swaying comically. Glancing back at the new managers, he tisked.

"Amateurs," he scoffed in his heavy accent and hurried after her, as fast as his chubby legs would carry him.

The managers seemed to be close to tears, and so was I. Tears of laughter, I mean. Meg and I were giggling so much, my stomach hurt.

There was a break in rehearsals, and everyone abandoned what they had been doing to talk.

Meg started to gripe about Carlotta, and I performed my best impressions of her as loudly as I could. Meg and some others, including some men, joined in with my game, howling with laughter.

After a minute, I noticed my shoelace had come undone during my dance, and I hurried over to a pile of boxes. Using the top one as a support, I bent over to tie my laces.

"A full house, Andre. We shall have to refund a full house!" Firmin cried, mortified at the very thought. I didn't mind the sound of that. It meant an extra long lesson with my Angel. The very thought sent my heart pattering.

"Christine Daae could sing it, sir," Madame Giry suggested. I looked over, instantly embarrassed. I hated when new people looked over at me, especially with those disapproving looks. I thought Madame Giry knew I avoided attention at all costs.

Andre seemed confused.

"But a chorus girl? Don't be silly!" I felt annoyance creep up my back. I could sing!

"She has been taking lessons from a great teacher," she persuaded. I smiled a little in spite of myself. A great teacher indeed. Now Andre looked interested.

"Who?" he asked curiously. I blushed a little at his question, not sure what to say. I had never asked my Angel's name. It had never occurred to me he would have one.

"I don't know his name, monsieur," was all I could think of to say. Madame Giry walked over to me and placed a comforting hand on my shoulder.

"Let her sing for you, monsieur. She has been well taught." I looked at her gratefully. She was the only one who believed me, and never called me crazy. Meg might not call me crazy, but I didn't have the courage to tell her. I couldn't be more alone than I already was without going insane.

The two men exchanged looks, "All right."

I didn't move. Stage fright had suddenly frozen me where I stood.

"Come on, come on, don't be shy," Firmin coaxed, quite nicely for a change. I obeyed, stepping to the centre of the stage.

"From the beginning of the aria, please, mademoiselle," Reyer instructed, raising his baton. Fear leapt up my throat, and I considered backing out. I had never sung for anyone but my father, and my Angel. Making the sudden jump from private to a public performance, this unprepared, was nerve-racking.

"Andre, this is doing nothing for my nerves," I heard Firmin mutter. _Me neither,_ I thought to myself, trying not to shake so much.

"Well, she's very pretty," Andre replied, not sounding entirely truthful as he said it though. I tried closing my eyes and took deep breaths as the first few notes began to play.

_You're in the chapel_, I told myself to calm down. _Your Angel has told you to sing the aria. _

I opened my eyes, and began to sing.


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER FOUR: **

**Erik POV**

The orchestra played above me, as I listened to the heavenly voice of my angel in her first performance. I wished I could have seen her from box five, but some fop of a patron was occupying it, (who I had decided to call Pigeon due to the one on his jacket) and I didn't have the energy to drag him out. I had been up for three long nights in a row teaching Christine the aria she now sang, and let's face, I didn't need any more trouble.

It was enough to listen, however. Her beauty flowed through her voice more than ever. Since meeting her as a little girl, she had matured into a kind, and very attractive, young woman. The feelings of fondness had been realized a long time ago, and I still felt them. But they weren't just caring and protection now. I had fallen undeniably and irrevocably in love with her. So much so, that I had developed a type of obsession.

I had prompted Antoinette to suggest Christine as the next candidate after La Carlotta (who shouldn't have been a candidate at all), but naturally I first had to dispose of the prima donna to make way for my own.

If Carlotta had been a man (though she did look a little like one with her fuzzy upper lip and all) my disposal would have been much more brutal.

Unfortunately, Carlotta was a woman, so I could not simply silence her forever, though I would have liked to.

So, instead I had dropped a set on her, which had set her on a screaming binge.

It was easy for me to get control of the levers that lowered the sets as Bouquet had been ravishing some poor girl in a back room and the others had been mixed below me in a drunken stupor. It merely took a simple unloosening of a rope or two, and Carlotta was flattened, unfortunately, her ego not with her.

She was far too self-absorbed to stand for such trickery and so, after many screeches of a half French, half Italian insults, she finally stormed out.

Christine was a sensation, the managers adored her, and the cast adored her. They all said that her voice could cast a spell on them, and no one knew this better than I did.

Her voice could make me forget everything, for a little while anyways. All the troubles of the theatre seemed to disappear into music when she sang.

There were plenty of troubles, and La Carlotta was only the beginning of it.

I now had new managers to rein in, which was never easy to do. It was also not pleasing that they had bought the Opera Populaire for the profit, not the joy of opera itself. I would have bet my mask they couldn't tell an eighth note from a quarter, a task I could accomplish at four years old.

I was also concerned about Joseph Buquet's antics. He would prey on the most prominent (and voluptuous) ballerinas, and Christine had certainly jumped up the ranks significantly, in both categories. It was not comforting to think of my lovely songbird in the arms of that weasel, and I made sure to keep Antoinette on his case.

By this time, her song was over, and the audience was applauding, murmuring their approval to each other.

Softly, so no one could hear me, I clapped with them. I listened to the patrons sitting directly behind the orchestra pit, trying to hear what they thought of my Christine.

There wasn't a single person who wasn't moved by the performance. One woman had been reduced to tears!

It felt good to know I played a part in her success. She knew that as well, and was always very grateful to me when I praised her.

"I'm only as good as I am because of you, my Angel," she had told me once, bashfully, after I had showered her with approval. She asked me after that if she could see me, something she only did when I was exceptionally pleased with her. I always said no, and I could see her disappointment. She would wait for another chance to see me, and be turned away each and every time.

But not tonight. Tonight I would step forth from shadows, reveal myself not as an angel, but a man. Hopefully she wouldn't be too disappointed, but I would show her everything, my music, my home, except one thing.

I wouldn't show her my face. It was better to keep some things secret, and letting her see beneath the mask was definitely one of those things.

If she saw me for what I was, she would never love me. No one ever would.

My own mother had never cared. She had always seen me as a freak and cast me into exile in my own house.

I knew that if she couldn't, Christine surely wouldn't either. She would never love such a monstrous, hideous thing of darkness like me. Demons like me did not deserve the love of an Angel.

It was inevitable she would be curious, and there was always the chance she would try to see for herself. But I had decided I would finally face her, and there was no changing my mind.

Quickly, I darted away from beneath the crack in the ceiling from where I listened and ran up a long forgotten set of stairs. Hurrying along the passages I had created for faster travel, I soon arrived at the chapel.

I waited for Christine come down the stairs, which she did soon after I had approached the wall to watch her from. She would never break her promise to see me, for which I was quite glad.

She fell to her knees as she reached the candle with her father's picture beneath it. She stared at it wistfully for a moment, and I didn't call out to her just yet, sensing her need to reflect briefly.

Taking a match that laid beside it, she lit the end from another candle and transferred the flame. I liked that she wasn't afraid of fire, or at least small flames. I had seen other women, much older than her, faint at the smallest spark.

She bowed her head in silent prayer. She looked exactly like an angel in that moment. It was perfect. I had to design a figure of her just like she was. I remembered my real purpose for coming and decided to get on with it.

"Brava, Brava, Bravissima," I sang to her softly, and she looked up, the traces of a smile on her face. She adored it when I sang; she would always ask me to sing for her at the end of each lesson, which I happily obliged.

From the top of the stairs, I heard Antoinette's daughter, Meg calling her name.

"Christine? Christine?" My Angel turned when she heard her name the second time, and I desperately tried to get her attention again.

"Christine," I whispered, and she looked back for a moment, before Meg skipped down the stairs.

"There you are!" she laughed, running over to Christine. "Where in the world have you been hiding?"

Christine smiled, looking away shyly, as Meg praised, "Really, you were perfect!"

She touched her shoulder as she sat back on her heels. She sighed, shaking her head.

"I only wish I knew your secret. Who is your great tutor that mother was talking about?" she asked, completely innocent in her intentions.

I glanced at Christine, reading her expression as it darkened. It was obvious she was going to confide to her about me, but the real question was would Meg believe her? I listened close, as she began to whisper.

"Meg, when your mother brought me here to live, whenever I'd come down here alone to light a candle for my father, a voice from above…" She waved her hand around the room to show this.

It was apparent from Meg's face that she didn't believe a single word of this. I couldn't blame her, but I did feel irked she didn't believe Christine. Why was I always some figment of imagination? I was a person like anyone else!

"And in my dreams," Christine continued, "He was always there." She looked up at Meg. Now she was in the middle of her explanation, she was much more confident in her story.

"You see, when my father lay dying, he told me he would send an angel. An Angel of Music."

I understood now, all of her desperation to see me was quite pitiable really. We both had longed for parents, someone who would care about us, and we had found comfort with each other, though she didn't really know who I was.

Apparently this wasn't making any sense to Meg, for she looked upon Christine as though she was absolutely crazy.

"Christine, do you believe…" She bit her lip, trying to say it nicely. "Do you think the spirit of your father is coaching you?" Christine raised an eyebrow in exasperation.

"No, I told you already, he sent me an Angel. It's the Angel who teaches me!" she explained, probably sounding like more of a nutcase then ever.

"Father once spoke of an Angel, I use to dream he'd appear."

I was glad of that. I had wished not long before she came someone like her would appear.

_You'll get your wish, Christine,_ I thought to myself, smiling at her from behind the wall.

"Now as I sing, I can sense him and I know he's here!" That surprised me. Maybe I needed some repairs on the one-way wall; my silhouette just might have been showing.

"Here in this room he calls me softly, somewhere inside hiding. Somehow I know he's always with me, he, the unseen genius!"

A genius was I? I had picked a good night to reveal myself indeed!

Christine had stood up by now, along with Meg, who definitely thought she was insane. She took her arm gently, as one might take someone who was about to be placed in a straightjacket.

"Christine, you must've been dreaming. Stories like this can't come true," she told her, looking very concerned for Christine, who stared off into space searching for me.

Meg began to pull her, and I actually walked into the wall, forgetting that I wasn't in the room. She couldn't leave yet. I hadn't gotten a chance to speak to her!

She seemed to be thinking the same thing, looking back mournfully.

"Christine you're talking in riddles, and it's not like you!" Meg cried as she hurried her up the stairs. I smirked wryly. Christine talked to me every night. It was most definitely like her to be this way.

But no matter, Meg couldn't take her anywhere I didn't already know. I would be with my Christine tonight, make no mistake about that!


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER FIVE:  
Christine POV**

Madame Giry took me off of Meg's hands as soon as we came above ground, and I was rather glad she did. The swarm of admirers that gathered for me was overwhelming. If the people had been water, I was more than certain I would be up to my neck in it.

For a ballet teacher, Madame Giry was a strong woman. She pushed through the crowd with the ease of a wrestler, and I was more than happy to follow close behind. She shoved me through the door, shouting at the crowd to leave me alone.

After sealing the door, she turned to me with a rare smile on her face. She picked up a blood red rose that lay upon the dresser.

"He is pleased with you," she told me.

I looked up at her as I took it. She knew him… yet she had never thought to tell me about him.

I looked down at the rose. A black ribbon was tied tightly around it, and I pulled at the bow a little. Whoever had done this certainly took their time and care with it. He was awfully nice. How I wished to meet him one day.

I looked up to Madame Giry, but she was gone already. Sighing quietly to myself, I went over to the tall mirror and surveyed my reflection.

I didn't look too bad, surprisingly. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to touch up my make-up, I might attend the after party with Meg and it would be a fancy event.

I sat at the wide vanity table, inspecting the state of my eye shadow. I didn't really find anything to fix, and so after a minute or two of fussing, I settled on examining the rose.

I was playing at the petals, when I heard someone speak.

"Little Lotte let her mind wander," a man's voice said. I looked up at myself in the mirror. Oh, no. Not the poem!

Raoul had devised a poem about me one day, to avoid boredom, and had recited it nearly every time we met. Little did he know that poem was the most idiotic thing I had ever heard. Let my mind wander. I wish I could wander from the room!

"Little Lotte thought, am I fonder of dolls, or goblins or shoes?" Raoul asked, striding towards me with a large bouquet of flowers. Though bigger and more plentiful, I couldn't help but notice they weren't as striking as the rose.

"Raoul," I murmured, smiling in spite of myself. I really did love flowers. I had picked so many in the field behind my father's house, daffodils, petunias and lilies, but my favourite had always been the roses that grew on a bush near the garden.

Raoul set the bouquet aside, stepping closer to me.

"Or of riddles or frocks," he continued.

"Those picnics in the attic," I reminisced. _That you weren't supposed to attend, _I added to myself. I would eat alone in the attic with my imaginary friends, and Raoul had decided to join me a couple of times, much to my annoyance.

"Or chocolates." He looked as though he'd had his fair share of chocolates himself, but I didn't comment on that.

"Father playing the violin." That was something pleasant to remember. My father had been a wonderful violin player, the best of the world I thought.

"As we read to each other dark stories of the north," he added, kneeling down before me. I had liked those stories, but I wouldn't listen to them often, telling myself my own stories, unless of course we read about the Angel of Music. I always paid attention then.

That thought reminded me of the last part of the poem.

"No, Lotte said~" It pained me to call myself Lotte, but it was necessary in the moment. "~Is when I'm asleep in my bed, and the Angel of Music sings songs in my head."

He joined in on the second time.

"The Angel of Music sings songs in my head." He wasn't a very good singer, but I didn't expect him to be. Besides, he wasn't being trained by…

I wondered if I could tell him about my Angel. No one else believed me, but Raoul… maybe he would.

I didn't manage to tell him right away, for her put his arms around me in an embrace.

I embraced him back, not wanting to be rude. He hadn't really done anything too annoying yet, except for the poem, but he didn't know about that.

"You sang like an angel tonight," he murmured in my ear, pulling away to look at me.

I would tell him, I could see he was much more mature than I had thought. I was certain he would believe me.

"Father said, 'when I'm in Heaven child, I will send you the Angel of Music'." I felt my smile fade, but I didn't allow it to come back just yet.

"Well, Father is dead, Raoul. And I have been visited by the Angel~" He cut me off, looking more understanding than Meg had been.

"Oh, no doubt of it!" he agreed, shaking his head in agreement.

I smiled. He did understand me! Raoul had changed so much. Perhaps we could be friends after all. That hope was crushed almost instantly after it had been conceived.

"And now, we go to supper." My mouth dropped open. He had played me for a fool. He didn't believe me, he thought I was joking! I filled with distress at his games.

"No, Raoul. The Angel of Music is very strict," I told him, very seriously. Once, my Angel had given me such a reprimanding, that I had nearly burst into tears! He was hardly ever mad now, but I supposed that was because I didn't want to displease him, for Father's sake.

Raoul didn't pick up on my urgency.

"Well, I shan't keep you up late," he joked, laughing as he walked to the door.

"Raoul, no," I called, feeling a little betrayed. He turned around, laughing with a nearly girlish tone.

"You must change!" he told me, still lighthearted. "I'll get my carriage. Two minutes… Little Lotte." Lotte!

"No, Raoul. Wait!" But he had left. I sighed. Great. Now I wouldn't be able to see my Angel tonight. He was going to kill me!

There was no use standing around. I was sure he'd be back knocking on my door in a minute.

I heard a small noise, like the sound of a key turning in a lock, but I ignored it, passing it off for the squeak of pipes instead.

Heading to the cupboard, I slipped out of my gown, picking out a loose dress.

It was rather more revealing than what I usually wore for, but I was just going to use it for an undergarment anyways. I slipped it on, letting my hair hang down for a moment. Putting it up was such a nuisance sometimes.

I was just about to untie the strings of the corset, (I had made it far too tight around my chest) when the candles blew out. If not for the candles closest to me, I would have been in darkness.

At first, I thought it was just a gust of wind I hadn't felt, but looking around the room, I realized there were no windows. Suddenly, the candles to my right were snuffed out mysteriously, and I felt a creeping suspicion run up my back. This wasn't right. Maybe I should be changing somewhere else.

I turned to go, but was stopped in my tracks by a voice that boomed like thunder behind me.

"Insolent boy, this slave of fashion. Basking in _your _glory!" My Angel's voice cried. He was right. Raoul had only come to me because of my fame, but I really hadn't suspected any other reason for his visit.

"Ignorant _fool_! This brave young suitor, sharing in my triumph!" _Our triumph, _I corrected in my head, but didn't say it aloud.

Turning around, I faced where I thought his voice came from, and nodded to show I agreed with him.

"Angel, I hear you. Speak, I listen. Stay by my side, guide me. Angel, my soul was weak, forgive me. Enter at last, master!" I sung back to him, somehow glad he was here, though it was a little odd how he had returned to me. It was almost ghostly, the setting that he chose for us.

He seemed quite pleased with my apology.

"Flattering child, you shall know me. See why in shadows I hide." My heart began to throb wildly. Was this real? I was going to meet him. My wish was coming true!

"Look at your face in the mirror, I am there inside!" I obeyed, and nearly felt my legs buckle. Instead of my own face, that of a masked man stared back at me.

I could not see wings, a halo around his head or anything that looked like the pictures of angels I had seen in books. Truthfully, he didn't look anything at all like an angel should. But this did not discourage me in the slightest and as slowly as if I were in a dream (which I nearly thought I was), I stepped forwards to him.

"Angel of Music, guide and guardian, grant to me your glory! Angel of Music, hide no longer, come to me, strange angel!" I almost begged, completely succumbing to my exhilaration, and not questioning if I should be approaching this man.

I was so close to the mirror, I was bound to smack against it, but as I drew nearer, I found that there was no barrier between this man, or angel, or whatever he was, and me.

Now in the passage, a realization snapped into place. My Angel was not immortal. He was a man like any other. He didn't seem like just any man though. There was something much more lurking within and I couldn't resist the intrigue of what it might be.

"I am your Angel of Music. Come to me Angel of Music," he sung eerily, and suddenly the reason for the mask snapped into place. This man was not just any man: he was the Phantom of the Opera!

Almost as soon as this comprehension registered, I heard the thumping on the door.

"Who is that in there?" Raoul's voice shouted, as he jiggled the handle violently. I was now in serious danger, and any sensible girl would have run as far and as fast as they could from the room, which I briefly considered doing.

But he wasn't like the Phantom of the ballerinas' legends. This Phantom had been kind and gentle with me, and I had waited for so long for this moment.

As if I needed any more coaxing, The Phantom beckoned me with his black leather gloved hand.

"I am your Angel of Music," he repeated.

"Christine!" came Raoul's yells through the door, but he was too late.

"Come to me Angel of Music." His hand was before me. I still hadn't given myself to him yet. I was on the point of no return, and the safest choice was to refuse. My heart and mind were one in the decision.

Hesitating for a mere moment, I took his hand and left Raoul behind.


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER SIX:**

**Christine POV**

My Angel, or I suppose now kidnapper, led me down the seemingly endless hallway lined with moving candelabras on the walls. I didn't look around at scenery however. I was far too focused with him.

He led me down the hall with his masked side to me, occasionally glancing around to stare mysteriously into my eyes. The black cape he wore brushed against my feet, and I hoped my clumsiness wouldn't be triggered tonight. To look like an idiot in front of him would be utterly mortifying!

The left side of his face was not masked, to my delight. Raoul was handsome, but this man simply outmatched him though he was not the regular Adonis, with his deathly pale skin and ebony black hair. But his eyes were the thing that really caught my attention.

They were a deep emerald green with golden brown flecks like a candle in a dark window beckoning me in an almost eerie way. If he meant to enrapture me, he did his job well for I could not remove my gaze from his eyes.

He had sung to me in my sleep, he was the voice that was always in dreams but I could never have conjured such an alluring man. Was I dreaming again, for he was certainly there within my mind?

He took a torch from a bracket on the wall as we approached a winding staircase. He acknowledged my persistent gaze, glancing over at me with his glittering eyes, pulling me along side him, before looking away.

The stairway led to a damp corridor where a sable horse stood obediently, with a saddle, bridle and all.

I smiled with surprise. I had always liked riding horses, my father had taught me in the summer instead of ice-skating.

He slid the torch into the wall, as he neared the horse, which I was glad of. I had seen many a man, supposed "expert horsemen", who had received a hoof in the face because they were too careless to put out their torches.

He, obviously, was careful of these details, and seemed to pay much more attention to the horse's state of mind, patting its long nose to assure calmness.

I took his hand as I placed my foot into the stirrup, lifting myself over the saddle. I could mount a horse by myself, but the feel of the leather glove against my clammy palm was more pleasurable to me than proving my own ability. He took the reins, slowly leading the horse, and me, down the hall.

His power over my sub-conscious mind was growing stronger by the second, and even though I turned for a moment to glance behind me, he remained constantly in my mind.

The horse slowed as we reached a long underground river with a gondola waiting at the bank, which explained why the walls had been growing increasingly wetter as we descended. He came around to my right side, taking me by the waist gently, but firmly. I swung my legs over the saddle, and put one arm around his shoulders to steady myself. I jumped off the horse in almost a slide, and landed quite close to him.

It unnerved me, to be nearly nose-to-nose, but he hardly even changed his expression. Stepping about an arm's length away from me, he steadied the boat with his foot, and helped me into it.

I sat near the front, and he took a long black pole and gently pushed off from the shore.

We slowly entered a stony tunnel that had indignantly ugly faces leering out from the walls. A small patch of moss, almost like a mask, covered one of these faces, and it was then I first thought of the reason for his mask.

It came to me that, like the carvings, he might be hiding something. Maybe, just maybe, he wasn't as perfect as he appeared to be.

That gave me a good idea for lyrics to a song, which was surprising. Normally, I was terrible at thinking up lyrics. I began to sing these in my head, consider whether I could sing them to him.

_Those who have seen your face, draw back in fear. I am the mask you wear~ _

"It's me, they hear," he sung softly in response, startling me. Maybe in this twisting labyrinth where even the dark of night was blind, The Phantom was really there, inside my mind, controlling every thought that passed through it.

"Sing, my Angel. Sing for me!" he hissed in a more controlling tone than ever in my childhood, but still I obeyed.

Opening my mouth, I sang as loudly and as purely as possible as we neared an iron gate that opened automatically. Curtains swung open revealing a massive lair with literally thousands of candles lining the walls and even candelabras rising up from the water itself that lit in the open air. An organ, piled with sheet music and grotesque sculptures, loomed at the very back of the lair and I felt humbled by its size.

The boat rocked a little as it hit the shore, but the Phantom jumped out so nimbly that there was hardly a ripple in the water. I looked back to him, and caught him swirling his cape off his shoulders more impressively than a Spanish matador.

Throwing it to the floor, he returned his gaze to me. There wasn't a smirk on his face, no look of "I just did something spectacular, want to praise me?" in his eyes like Raoul's would. Instead, he seemed to think very little of this show, fully absorbed in me. I wasn't sure why he would want to be.

He opened his mouth and began to sing to me, so sweetly, I was forced to believe once more that he really was an angel.

"I have brought you, to the seat of sweet music's throne, to this kingdom where all must pay homage to music… music," he sung powerfully as he ascended the stairs in a couple of bounds. I looked back, not wanting to miss a single aspect of this shrine dedicated, by what he had told me, to music itself.

He caught my attention again as his topic turned away from his sanctuary and back to me.

"You have come here, for one purpose and one alone." He faced away from me, but I could still hear him as well as if he had been facing me. He slowly turned to gaze at me, something different in his eyes now. I couldn't tell what was there, and I leaned closer to where he stood to try to look.

"Since the moment I first heard you sing, I have needed you with me, to serve me to sing, for my music… my music."

The mood of the song changed as he gradually began to walk down the stairs towards me.

"Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation. Darkness stirs and wakes imagination. Silently the senses abandon their defenses."

I saw what was in his eyes, and what was in his whisper of a voice. This was not simply the liking a teacher has for a student. In the Phantom's eyes, I could see he actually cared about me.

He offered his hand once more to me. I was so stunned he felt, at least a little fondness for me that I rose to my feet and took his hand. His calculating eyes swept over mine, reading every emotion that passed through me.

"Slowly, gently, night unfurls its splendor. Grasp it, sense it, tremulous and tender." For whatever reason, I looked back for a moment, maybe surveying the beautiful work scattered all around us. His gloved hand cupped my chin, making me gasp as he tenderly turned my head back to gaze at him.

"Turn your face away from the garish light of day. Turn your thoughts away from cold, unfeeling light~" He looked down, causing me to automatically follow his gaze. I spotted the perfect replica of the stage I had sung on tonight, with a little figurine of me standing upon it. A rose lay before it, and I began to wonder just how many of those he had.

I looked up at him, as he slid his hand out of mine so he only held onto my fingers in such a way that I dared to think he might kiss them, but I was glad he didn't for I was sure I would have collapsed on the spot seeing as my resolve had decided to abandon me.

Smiling genuinely for the first time that night, he continued, "~and listen to the music of the night."

Letting go of my hand, he was up the stairs in a matter of seconds, faster than a panther stalking prey. His expression still featured a smile, but now it was more cunning than genteel as it had been a moment before.

"Close your eyes and surrender to your darkest dreams; purge your thoughts of the life you knew before." I was far ahead of him. I was hardly aware of anything any more except for the man sing before me.

I obeyed his next command willingly, letting myself fall into the spell of his heavenly voice.

"Close your eyes, let your spirit start to soar." The way he held that note sent shivers up and down my spine and I had to open my eyes to make sure it was really him, not some other divine spirit come to whisk me away to Heaven.

"And you'll live, as you've never lived before." His hand was out for the taking, and I was more than happy to step forward and claim it. Actually, he was claiming me, but it didn't matter.

His voice took on a more snake-like quality than it had possessed earlier, which would have alarmed me, had I not been deep under his control.

"Softly, deftly, music shall caress you. Hear it, fear it, secretly possess you." As he sang this, he pulled me close to him, so our foreheads were nearly touching and I had full view of his surprisingly soft and desirable looking lips. If he had asked, which I later realized he had been, I most certainly would have bridged the gap between our lips, but I feared it would unsettle him, and wanted him to continue singing.

"Open up your mind, let your fantasies unwind in this darkness, which you know you cannot fight." He smiled again, in a daunting sort of way, but I enjoyed it all the same.

"The darkness of the music of the night." He circled behind the organ, looking at me between the various pipes and candles that rose up all around us, intent on keeping me transfixed.

"Let your mind start a journey through a strange new world, leave all thoughts of the life you knew before."

I couldn't even feel myself breathing. This world down here, that had stayed hidden for so long, had swallowed me up. I was part of it and it was a part of me.

"Let your soul take you where you long to be~" He came out from the barrier between us, slowly stepping towards me with an expression that I deciphered as part passionate adoration, part innocent amazement and part desolate longing, none of which I was sure the reason for.

"Only then… can you belong… to me," he whispered softly, his hands finding my neck and sliding to my shoulders. He turned me so my back was pressed against him, and my head lay back against his mask.

"Floating, falling, sweet intoxication." His hands slid just beneath my chest, and I closed my eyes. For years I had hoped he would be a simple sweetheart with me, like the kind I had read about in books, but this… this was beyond my expectations.

I felt the leather of his glove slide over my hip and to my left hand.

"Touch me, trust me," he whispered, pushing my hand against his smooth cheek, somewhere it would have wandered without his assistance.

"Savour each sensation." I turned to look at him, to reassure myself for the millionth time that night that this was real, he was real, and I was real.

As if he had read my mind, he squeezed my hand in an assuring way. He led me down a smaller flight of stairs.

"Let the dream begin, let your darker side give in to the power of the music that I write. The power of the music of the night."

His arm wrapped gently around my waist in a protective way, as if he was saying he would always be there with me, beside me. My father had once promised me that.

I had come out of my trance. I didn't feel dizzy or intoxicated. I felt safe and, for once, I felt wanted with him.

I smiled at him more brightly than ever. He had led me to an open curtain, but I didn't look for a moment, gazing up into those brilliant eyes of his.

He looked at whatever he was going to show me, some fantastic work of art that rivaled Da Vinci I assumed, and thought it best to look as well. When I did, I felt the smile slide away, a look of shock replacing it.

Behind the curtains stood an exact replica of myself, but instead of an overly tight corset, I wore a beautiful wedding gown and veil.

It was then, and only then, did my mind comprehend his passion for me. He had fallen in love, and was subtly asking me to be his bride.

I felt my chest heave, taking in air, but surely not enough. I hastily tried to gulp some down, but it was far too late.

If I had not been fighting to breathe in a way that would not embarrass myself, I would have turned and told him I accepted, and the whole rest of this tale wouldn't have happened. But fate has always been so _kind_ to me, and I couldn't get enough air into my lungs. I felt myself fall backwards, and my world went black.

It was after that night that I vowed I would never wear another corset ever again.


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER SEVEN:**

**Erik POV**

My angel fell back, unconscious from apparent shock. I lunged out and cradled her gently, lifting her in my arms.

She wasn't very heavy. I had lifted far more corpulent people in my time. Keeping her secure in my arms, I carried her to my bed.

I considered whether I should have shown her the mannequin so soon. She might have fainted from horror for all I knew. I wouldn't be surprised. Horrified faces weren't exactly new to me.

Laying her down on the red satin blankets of my bed, I noticed how tightly the strings of her corset were tied. Hesitating for a moment, I quickly undid the bow and pulled the strings looser, trying not to let my fingers rest too long on her décolletage.

This seemed to help, for she exhaled loudly and began to breathe more freely, but did not wake up.

I had a perfect view of her tantalizing red lips. It would be too easy to just lean down now and… No!

I banished those thoughts from my mind. I was sure I would not be able to control my actions if I succumbed to the urges that whispered in the dark recesses of my mind.

I did, however, let my hand brush beneath her jaw, trying not to savour the feeling of her delicate skin too much. She was far too perfect, and I scorned myself inwardly for disturbing her slumber like this, though she hadn't stirred, even slightly.

"You alone can make my song take flight. Help me make the music of the night," I sang to her quietly, to ensure she didn't wake. I reached up to the long cord connected to the curtains and pulled down once. The black lace draped down over her, creating a partial screen.

I watched her for a moment, her eyelids flickering slightly as she dreamed. A little smile crossed her face, and I was almost certain it wasn't me she was seeing.

I left her alone with her dreams, after winding up the monkey music box that I created to remind me of a long lost toy I once had with the gypsies. _Gypsies_! Even the name filled me with loathing.

I shook that thought from my mind and moved silently to my model of the opera house.

Pulling out an embossed card, I began to write my next letter to the new managers. They hadn't followed my instructions very well, and I wasn't pleased with them at all.

I finished the letter very quickly, my mind over-flowing with ideas of what to say. I took my time signing my nom de plume "O.G." I couldn't help but smile when I thought of it.

Slipping the card into the envelope, I sealed it with my signature seal, a skull leering out of the wax. I set it to dry on the table, entertaining myself with the model. I moved the figurine of Carlotta over to the fat one of Piangi, and made up a few foolish conversations in my head to pass the time. I knew I was far too old to play with toys, but somehow I enjoyed it. I supposed it was because I was never allowed to engage in such childish activities when living with my mother.

I revelled in switching the heads of Carlotta and Piangi, her sausage-like tresses cascading down Piangi's fat stomach.

I never understood how he put up with that woman. She was utterly unbearable! I supposed he was desperate for any woman, and Carlotta's standards were fairly low. All she needed was a pack mule to throw her belongings on, as long as he had at least the air of a Don Juan.

_Don Juan…_

The antics caused my creative genius to kick in, pestering me with notes to a captivating song.

Giving into the urge to create, I stroked the cheek of the figurine of Christine with my fingertip before striding to my organ, and began to play gently, so Christine could continue to sleep.

I don't know how long I was there. I didn't really keep track of time that well, but I know eventually Christine's voice joined in with my music.

At first, I thought I was imagining it, but in time I realized she was behind me.

"I remember there was mist, swirling mist, upon a vast glossy lake. There were candles all around and on the lake there was a boat… and in the boat there was a man!"

She was making sense of her surroundings. Well, it was a good thing; I couldn't deceive her forever, or at least it would have been callous to do so.

I looked back at her. She stood outside the threshold of my bedroom, still wearing her nightgown, but without her stockings. She gazed at me with innocent eyes like a child, and I looked back to my music.

All of this was for her, but I could see in her eyes she returned none of the devotion to me that I had shown to her the previous night.

I closed my eyes. It was completely out of my character to pursue her like this, when it was so plain that I didn't have a hope in the world of capturing her heart. I had always been able to get what I wanted through force, but I doubted that would get me anywhere with her.

I felt her slowly approach me, and her hand rest upon my shoulder. I turned to look at her, curious at her newly found courage. Her hand reached toward my face, and I pulled back a little.

Her fingers caught my cheek and began to caress it, which I had never experienced before. For as long as I had known her, I wondered what could ever repay all that I had done for her, but the simple touch of her hand melted away all thoughts of debt to me.

It was hardly anything to relish, but the action was more loving than anything I had ever received and I couldn't resist the sweetness of her touch.

I let down my guard willingly, basking in the radiant warmth of her palm. I regretted it a second later.

My mask came loose from my face, and I heard the gasp of repulsion as she drew away. It had been a ruse! Of course she wasn't going to give me affection, who on earth would want to? Anger and betrayal flooded my mind, and I threw her to the floor.

"Damn you! You little prying Pandora! You little demon!" I yelled at her as she cowered at my feet. I stormed to a mirror, covered by a white sheet and tore it off. Removing my hand, I forced myself, and her if she watched, to look at the abhorrent mess that made up the right side of my face.

"This is what you wanted to see!" I breathed, before throwing my hand over my face again. All the self-control I had possessed evapourated and the monster within me rose up in a violent rage.

"Curse you! You little lying Delilah! You little viper! Now you cannot _ever_ be free!"

I strode down the stairs, pushing over a candle as I went.

"Damn you… curse you…" I stood in silent rage, staring through the waters as I thought. A foolish mistake, I should have seen it coming.

A small noise reached my ears.

Chancing a glance at her, I caught the tears flowing down her cheeks and my temper dissolved inside me.

Oh, Christine…

My hatred was back, but this time it was directed at myself. It was because of me that my Angel cried. Everything in this world was frightened of this face! What could I do but be a monster. Even to my Angel I was a monster! I tried to do things for her, but, I could not bear to be imperfect. It was far too late for that.

I could not vent my anger at her, but yet I could not comfort her without her flinching away from me. It was best to try and reason with Christine.

"Stranger than you dreamt it, can you even dare to look, or bear to think of me." I could see she didn't want to, I didn't blame her for that.

I had scarred her for life, no doubt. She the last person I ever wanted to cower before me. I could see she only remained because of fear, but I didn't let that thought affect my will of iron.

I kept my hand over my face so she wouldn't have to suffer the repulsion evidently churning within her.

"This loathsome gargoyle, who burns in Hell, but secretly yearns for Heaven, secretly, secretly, secretly." My eyes fell upon the mannequin of Christine I had made, perfect in almost every way. But I could not make it love me, nor the real Christine either.

"Christine…" I rounded on her, and saw her flinch back. I didn't approach her as quickly as I first intended, but instead slowly climbed the stairs between us.

"Fear can turn to love, you'll learn to see, to find the man behind the monster~" I severely doubted my words, but didn't think it was wise to let her know I had given up all hope. It was futile to look for a man, when there was only monster within.

"This… repulsive carcass, who seems a beast, but dreams of beauty, secretly, secretly… secretly." I looked at Christine, who I realized was crying not in fear any longer, but in pity… pity for me.

"Oh, Christine," I whispered, feeling my own tears betray me as I sunk down on the stairs. She was the beauty I dreamed of, the only thing that could save me from this Hell. I saw her approach, and looked at what she held in her delicate hand.

My porcelain mask trembled as she handed it to me. I reached out and took it from her, making sure not to touch her hand. She didn't need to be terrorized more than she already was.

Slowly, I put the mask on and stood up. I brushed away the tear that rolled down my cheek, feeling the impenetrable wall around my heart close up. I turned back to her, trying not to let compassion seep into my gaze. I could never be truly livid with Christine. I loved her far too much for that.

"Come we must return. Those two fools who run my theatre will be missing you."

~0~0~0~0~

**Christine POV**

The Phantom offered me his hand, and I took it. He pulled me effortlessly to my feet and led me down to the boat. I did not feel as entranced as I did last night. In fact, I felt very disconcerted.

The mystery behind the mask had been revealed and I had been utterly shocked to see my wild theory was correct. He wasn't the perfect man that I had wished him to be. He was disfigured, ill tempered and even ugly.

Still, I could not help but feel sorry for him, and I now could understand why he had hidden so long from me. No one could have accepted him before. He may never have had a mother or a father, which was a thought that startled me greatly. That would mean him and I were closer than I had first thought: we were both alone in this world.

He led me into the boat, and I sat down obediently, wiping tears from my eyes. I kept picturing his face, that I realized hadn't scared me that much at all. I had only be shocked it was damaged, not horrified with how bad it was.

Well, it had been _extremely_ bad. Folds of mottled skin running up and down his cheek and temple; his skin around his eye pulled down so it sagged: it was as gruesome as I had ever seen!

But somehow, I couldn't fear his face, but rather I feared the horrific temper he had shown me. I had betrayed him, and he had punished me well for it. Even as he propelled the boat away from the cavern, my heart was pounding faster than it should have.

As we were halfway down the canal, the question Andre had asked yesterday floated into my mind.

"Monsieur?" He looked down at me sternly, no warmth within his gaze. I was a little discouraged, but I decided to ask anyhow.

"What… may I ask your name?" He did not reply, continuing down the river and I sat in silence for the rest of the trip.

I was left to wonder, and reflect on legend of the man who I had always doubted being real. Joseph Buquet was wrong. He had no parchment-like skin, and certainly there was a nose there, even if one side was deformed.

Even though he had been more vicious then necessary to me, I still felt I deserved it. I would have done the same thing in his place, especially with my hidden temper. Maybe we had more in common after all.

We arrived at the same landing platform, but there was no horse waiting there. He led me to a door that was partially concealed in the wall and opened it. Strangely enough it led to the hall leading to the ballerina's dormitory.

I nodded and stepped through it. I sensed this was the end of our time together, when he called my name out.

"Christine?" I turned back, looking into his mysterious eyes.

"My name is Erik," he murmured, and gestured I was free to go. I turned, but thought of another question.

"Erik, am I going to see you again~" I looked back but he had already gone. "~tonight…?"

I entered my dormitory feeling the weights of the past bearing down on me, and I lay upon my bed, exhausted. In an instant Madame Giry and Meg were at my side.

"Are you alright, mademoiselle?" Madame Giry asked, straightening my covers. I nodded, for there was nothing else I could do.

Meg rushed off, saying something about fetching water, and I looked to Madame Giry.

"I will tell everyone to leave you alone, my dear," she informed me, patting my hand. I grabbed a hold of her arm with a vice like grip, stopping her dead. I was a little delirious from shock and my eyes were growing tired as my tears dried.

"You said he was my Angel," I whispered, "but he was only a man." And with that, I slipped into my dreams, not able to keep my eyes open any longer.


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER EIGHT:**

**Christine POV**

The Opera house was utter chaos for the next few weeks. Everyone was running around talking about Erik and the blackmail he had been sending to some of the cast.

Even though it was alarming, I couldn't help but be at least a tiny bit entertained by it, and I would find out as soon as I could if people had received any of this sort of mail through Raoul.

I became his partner of sorts, but I only agreed because it meant I got away from all the confusion of the Opera Populaire every once in a while. I also would receive the latest news from "O.G." as his nom de plume was before any of the chorus girls could stretch the story.

Meg seemed very jealous of me, and would often grumble whenever I went out with Raoul. I formed the idea that she was smitten with him, but didn't question her on it. I had watched enough catfights in the dormitory to know what _not_ to do.

I also had the obligation of learning a role in the new production of _Il Muto_, where I was to play Serafimo, the mute fancy of the Countess. From the way Erik treated me, I could tell this would not please him, especially since La Carlotta was playing opposite me.

Carlotta and I had not been great friends to start with, but now we were bitter rivals. I kept my hatred within me, but she spread hers across the very earth, so it seemed. Every week I would have to fight off sabotage attempts, everything from blackmail to burning my clothing, which made me detest the fat hag even more each time I saw her.

It was finally the first performance of _Il Muto_ and I had just finished putting on my heavy make-up and costume, and was trying to get on stage. The regular way was too crowded as one of the sheep for the ballet was having a fit and knocking into props.

There was too much commotion, so I decided to take the back way where many of the stagehands hid out on their breaks. It was dark and gloomy there, and many old, broken puppets hung from the ceiling, jeering at me silently. Above me in the rafters, I kept hearing what sounded like the soft _swoosh_ of a cape, and once I thought I caught a glimpse of Erik's mask.

It was starting to scare me, and I was about to go when I was caught around the waist and dragged into someone's arms. The smell of strong alcohol and sweat mixed together assaulted my nostrils, and I feared the worst of whom this might be. My fears were confirmed.

I was captured by none other than Joseph Buquet.

He pushed his sweaty face into my ponytail, inhaling my scent, which made me sick.

"What a pretty bird I've caught," he muttered, the scent of his breath making me choke.

"Buquet," I grunted, struggling to get out of his grip. His arms held me tighter, almost as tight as a corset, and I could not break away.

"I do hope you will perform well for me." I knew he didn't mean singing, and I threw myself against his arms in attempts to get free.

"Speaking of performing, I really have to~" I never finished my sentence in time.

Spinning me around, his drunken lips met mine and for a second, I received my first kiss. It was not pleasant, I assure you.

I pushed him away from me, trying to run, but he caught my arm.

"The show's not done yet, little birdie," he grinned maniacally, his sweaty hand reaching out for my bosoms. I had never been violent before, and wasn't quite sure where my inner strength came from, but I was quite glad I had it or I would've been doomed.

I slapped him across the face, catching him hard and sending him to the ground. I hesitated for merely a moment, a little shocked at my force, before picking up my skirts and running as fast as I could onto the stage, ducking behind the curtain in front of the fake bed.

Carlotta already stood there with her precariously tall wig on that resembled Marie Antoinette's ill-fated head. She frowned at me when I arrived, panting from the long run and the fear.

"You are late, _petit grenouille_," she commented in a huff, opening her mouth so her maid could spray a foreign concoction into the yawning cavern.

She cackled like a crow for a small warm up, and I waited until after her little show was done to respond.

"I was held up… so to speak." She looked over at me and raised an eyebrow.

"Your lipstick is smudged," she noted, and I bit my lip.

"'Ave you and zat Vicomte been smooching again?" My mouth fell open at her suggestion. Raoul and I… kissing?

"What do you mean?" I stuttered, which only seemed to confirm her suspicions.

"You and 'im are, 'ow you say… sweet 'earts?" I opened my mouth in shock, but I didn't get to answer as the orchestra began to play the prelude.

"We are on soon, frog," she told me, and readied herself. I sighed, stepping close to her to prepare as well.

The stage was set. The show was beginning.


	9. Chapter 9

**(A/N: Just to clarify, when Erik talks about "Pigeon", he means Raoul. He mentioned that earlier, but I wasn't sure if you would remember, so just making sure. Thanks to all my reviewers, I really appreciate your support. Please R&R and enjoy the chapter!)**

**~0~0~0~0~**

**CHAPTER NINE:  
Erik POV**

I wandered the rafters, keeping an eye on Christine as she made her way along one of the more dangerous passages to the stage. She seemed to hear my cape swishing along behind me, and would frequently look up at me. Once I think she spotted my mask, for she gasped and kept moving, but a little quicker than before.

I had let my eyes wander out to the audience, which I could see from this high up. My managers had not followed my instructions, _again_. Christine was the "silent role" for starters, which was not pleasing. She had stayed silent long enough as a chorus girl, it was _her_ time to be a star, not that pampered diva!

As if they couldn't plan anything worse, they had allowed Pigeon, who had been courting Christine the past couple of weeks, was sitting in my Box as well.

That was the final insult! I would show them I was a force to be reckoned with, and not an imaginary apparition. It was surely time to crack the whip upon the hides of those two fools.

I was just about to head to the walkway above the seats, which was a good perch to observe the stage, when I heard Joseph Buquet's voice.

"What a pretty bird I caught," he purred below me. I rolled my eyes. That man was far too lustful for my taste. He abused his position at the Opera Populaire. I was just going to ignore the antics of that fat drunken slug, all of which I could hear clearly, when the voice of the woman he preyed upon reached my ears.

"Speaking of performing, I really have to~" I looked down to see my beautiful innocent Christine's lips forced against Buquet's. Jealousy and anger screamed within me, and instinctively, I grabbed the Punjab Lasso from my belt. I didn't need to use it to free her, for she did that herself.

Pushing away from him, she turned to run, but he caught her by the hand. She countered well, striking him hard across the face with livid anger written on her usually serene face.

I hesitated, surprised and a little satisfied with her. She was feistier than I thought! I liked that she could handle it by herself and that she was quite capable of defense.

But I couldn't let it end there. Now that Buquet had taken a taste, there was no turning back now.

Walking down an iron staircase, I slipped past a group of ballerinas who were more than a little tipsy, gulping down bottles of alcohol freely.

"Eh, you!" one called to me, sleepily, "What are you about?"

I calmly removed an exact replica of Carlotta's bottle of throat spray, which was filled instead with bitter, acidic wine. I considered flitting into the shadows, but her currently inebriated state changed my mind.

"I'm _assisting_ our leading lady," I replied in an undertone, keeping my back to the stagehands that staggered past me. It seemed like I was the only one in the opera house who wasn't intoxicated.

As I expected, the ballerina looked at me in a daze.

"Parfait!" she muttered, and slumped forward onto the dressing room table, apparently in a stupor. I smirked and crept over to the table where Carlotta's maid had set the bottle of spray down.

Slowly, savouring the moment, I switched the bottles, and headed back to the stairs. I again had to pass the unconscious ballerina, who stirred as I approached.

"M'sieur, mon vin?" she asked, pointing shakily at the real bottle of throat spray, thinking it was wine. I glanced at Giry who was busy watching the performance.

Unscrewing the top, I slid the container to the ballerina, who downed it one gulp. She began to hack loudly.

"Tastes like a fat woman!" she coughed, and I laughed a little as she thumped her chest.

"You have an unparalleled sense of determining flavour, mademoiselle." I would have toyed with her more, but Madame Giry gave me a harsh stare and the ballerina had slipped back into oblivion again. I glided up the stairs, thinking it was best to avoid any more contact with the performers.

I was in the rafters in time to see my Christine pretending to grope Carlotta, watching them exchange bitter looks behind the flamingo feather fan. She wouldn't be upset when Carlotta was upstaged, I could tell.

Buquet was stumbling along one of the walkways, and I waited for him to turn away before floating behind him as swiftly as a specter. I think he felt my cape _whoosh_ behind him, for I saw him turn back, with a look of confusion on his thick red features.

I hurried across the narrow planks, to the swinging platforms above the stage, to get a better view of the action below me.

Piangi belted out something that I couldn't understand but guessed it had something to do with the plot, and strode over to Christine, who was doing a very pretty job of pretending to dust the curtains. He put his hand over her rump and she turned around, a look of fake surprise on her face.

"Though I'd happily take the maid with me," he told the audience. I narrowed my eyes at him. Didn't he wish he that was true. I decided he was next on my list to dispose of. I had seen him eyeing up Christine as he hung off of La Carlotta's arm earlier that day. Buquet was first of course. I would deal with that fat slug soon enough.

I leaned over the edge of the railing, watching Carlotta and Piangi dance around in a circle, singing something completely unfathomable, while the chorus bounced up and down for no apparent reason and Christine sat on the bed waiting for her cue.

I couldn't watch such a waste of an opera any longer, and hurried out one of my little passageways to the other side of the stage. I looked out the small window tucked behind the lever that controlled the chandelier. I briefly considered dropping it, but thought against it. I would only do that in an extreme emergency.

Stepping out of the hidden trapdoor in the ceiling, I stood behind the chandelier to hide myself.

"Poor fool he makes me laugh, ha ha ha!" Carlotta shrilled, not seeming to notice me though she stared directly at where I stood.

"Poor fool he doesn't know, ho ho ho!" The chorus around her joined in, but weren't loud enough to stop that woman's infernal voice from reaching my ears. It was time to stop this once and for all.

"If he knew he'd never ever go~"

"DID I NOT INSTRUCT THAT BOX FIVE WAS TO BE KEPT _EMPTY_?" I boomed, throwing my voice so the chandelier trembled. The audience gasped, looking around at each other. Pigeon, who inhabited my box, looked around, his skin now milk-white.

The performers on stage lost their characters, whispering and clutching onto each other. In fact, only two people still stood where they were: Meg Giry and my Christine, who, of the two of them, was the only one who did not have any signs of fear on her face.

"He's here, the Phantom of the Opera," Meg breathed in a carrying whisper.

_Thanks for pointing out the obvious, _I thought to myself, narrowing my eyes. Meg had to learn a new catch phrase, preferably one that wasn't so annoying.

Christine stared up at me, her expression full of apprehension. I read her lips.

_It's him…_ Carlotta rounded on her.

"Your part is silent, little toad!" she reminded her with venom, but quickly gave the audience a little giggle in case they had heard her.

"A toad, Madame?" I muttered to myself, "Perhaps it is you who are the toad." Christine looked over at Meg and nodded her head to the side a little. Her eyes warned her not to do anything rash, and quickly returned her gaze to La Carlotta who was getting a heavy dousing of the throat spray I had switched.

Smiling, I turned on my heel and slunk back behind the doorway. My plan had worked and it was only a matter of time until La Carlotta would have to stop singing.

"Serafimo, away with this pretence! You cannot speak, but kiss me in my~ UGGH!" Her voice caught in her throat, coming out as a large croak that surprised even me. I paused in the hall and listened to her voice, which was now worse than ever. The audience was laughing and I was certain this amusement was not shared with her. I would have listened longer if I hadn't heard the footsteps of Joseph Buquet behind me.

I stepped back into the shadows as Andre, I think, announced that Christine would be singing the lead in Carlotta's place. It was about time some sense was knocked into his head.

Buquet strode past where I hid, not able to see my mask with his blurred vision. As I surveyed him, I noted he reminded me of the gypsy man who had held me prisoner for a portion of my life. The once familiar sensation of terror threatened to creep up my neck but I brushed it away. I had taken care of that louse when I was nine; I certainly could take on a half-drunk stagehand. My days of being fearful were long gone, and I would never let myself fall prey to that feeling ever again.

I followed where Buquet had gone, and found him on the swinging walkways above the stage, eyeing up the ballerinas. He had better take a good look; this would be his last. He caught sight of my cape as I slipped past him and he looked behind him, starting to get the feeling someone was watching him. And I was!

Hurrying through the ropes along the side, he glanced around him, trying to find me, but I was too quick for him. I swung across the rope above his very head, so that if he had looked up I would've been in plain sight. He then turned around, after looking down at the stage, and I dropped down from the ceiling in front of him. We were so close that we almost touched noses, but I didn't have to worry about that for long. As soon as he saw me he ran as fast as he could onto the swinging planks.

Too easy.

It was ironic that he always warned about running from the Phantom of the Opera and that it would "spell your doom", when that was exactly what he was doing. I suppose he used the "do as I say, not as I do" method of teaching, but it certainly wasn't working out well for him on this particular night.

I darted after him, keeping a few paces behind. He dove for the ropes, hauling his bloated body up with much effort on his part. I slowed my pace slightly, so he would have a head start. I liked to put false hope into my victim's mind to make the end of the chase all the more satisfying.

Grabbing the same rope he had used, I shot up like a monkey and swung myself across to another set of planks. Buquet was walking across the set directly in front of me, but stopped cold when he caught sight of me waiting sinisterly for him to pick which way to run. Either way he chose, he could not win against me.

He faked going to his left and then to his right, both times I followed with lightening quick precision. He chose to go to his right, running with his arms flapping like a woman, which would've made me laugh had I not been so intent on revenge. I countered by pulling myself halfway up the rope and lying in wait for him to run onto the walkway.

He ran on, panting heavily, and I knew our chase would be finished soon.

Sliding down upon the ropes, I shook the walkway violently so it was unstable. He tripped on the spaces between the planks, falling to his knees. The smirk that curled my lips was inevitable, and I pulled the long rope from my waist.

He lay face-down over a gap in the walkway, almost as if someone had perfectly placed him so there would be as little trouble for me as possible.

I flipped him over with one hand, slipping the lasso around his neck with the other. I pulled it taut, watching his face and body contort wildly as he struggled to take a breath.

Leaning over him, I whispered, "I do hope you will perform well for me." His face blanched, realizing the meaning behind this attack. He opened his mouth and sputtered incoherent apologies.

"I-I didn't..." I took him roughly by the collar, hanging him over the small gap beneath which some of his past fancies pirouetted. His eyes bugged out as he measured the drop in his head which must have been a good thirty feet down.

"You must be always on your guard," I hissed with eyes as cold as ice. "Or I will catch you with my magical lasso." And with that last remark, I let him go.

For a moment, he fell straight down, before snapping back up again, surely breaking his neck. The audience and performers below let out a collective scream, erupting into many that carried around the theatre. I lifted my foot off the rope and he collapsed onto the floor, in a deadly heap.

I watched his still form feeling morbidly pleased with myself. I swished my cape around me. My work was finished here.

I crossed above the backstage where ballerinas wailed to each other in utter terror. Madame Giry held one sobbing girl's head in her arms as she looked up, to where I stood, with cold accusing eyes.

_You know I didn't mean to frighten them, _I thought so she could read it on my face but she just shook her head and looked away from me.

Behind her, with a red cape pulled over her shoulders, was Christine who simply stood with a blank expression on her face. I felt my smile drop. I hadn't thought of her.

Meg Giry ran over to her fearfully, looking even more skittish than usual.

"Christine? Do you know what happened? Christine?"

She didn't look at her as she spoke. It was like Christine didn't even know she was there at all.

"It's my fault… it's all my fault…" she breathed, and stepped back from Meg, who ran off to another girl who was crying inconsolably.

Guilt clawed at my insides. Her fault? No! She couldn't think because she was forced to kiss that pig it was her fault he was dead. Pigeon, whose rear end had been occupying _my_ seat, ran to her.

"Christine, are you all right?" he asked, and she jumped to life, backing away from him quickly, as if she had been burned.

"Raoul, you're not safe here," she told him, before fleeing the scene with Pigeon (whom I now knew as Raoul) hot on her heels. I shot off after them. This night was beginning to ruin both of us, and if I were going to do some good, it would be to clear her of her guilt.


	10. Chapter 10

**CHAPTER TEN:  
Christine POV**

I hurried up a flight of stairs, Raoul following behind me.

"Why have you brought me here?" he called after me.

"I didn't bring you anywhere, Raoul, you followed me. I can't go back there, not when it's my fault," I murmured in an undertone so he wouldn't hear me.

"You must return."

"He'll kill you! His eyes will find us there~"

"Christine, don't say that!" he implored me, sounding a little fearful himself.

"Those eyes that burn!" They burnt me in a different way than most, but I threw that thought from my mind. I was as bad as him. No, worse!

If I hadn't been so stubborn, he wouldn't have thought that kiss mattered, and we would've been spared this tragedy! It had been my fault; Erik had killed him, yes I couldn't deny that, but I had been the one to light the flame of fury within his jealous heart.

"Don't even think it!" Raoul said in almost an orderly way. I looked back at him with rage-filled eyes. He understood nothing of what I was going through! I had to think it, how else could I prevent my heart and mind from bursting?

"And if he has to kill a thousand men~" A thousand men who've wronged me, just so I would be protected, "The Phantom of the Opera will kill and kill again."

"There is no Phantom of the Opera," Raoul cried behind me, which made me stop in my tracks. I narrowed my eyes at him.

"You fool," I whispered, but I don't think he heard me for he grasped at my hand. I pulled away, running up the nearest flight of stairs to put space between this skeptic and myself.

"My God, who is this man, who hunts to kill?" I chided myself inwardly for saying that. He hunted for my sake; to let me be free from the torment men put me through! It was morbid, but he was protecting me like a father would! But fathers didn't kill… did they?

"I can't escape from him, I never will!" I cried, more to myself than to Raoul who heard me anyway. His hand reached for mine again, but I knocked it away. Why try to comfort me, when there was no comfort left? I could run as far away from Erik as I could, to the ends of the world and further, but he would still hold part of me prisoner. But what part I was not sure.

"And in this labyrinth where night is blind, the Phantom of the Opera is there, inside my mind," I breathed, stepping out on the snow-coated rooftop.

"There is no Phantom of the Opera," he told me again. He needed proof, didn't he? I could give him proof. I rounded on him, desperate to convince him.

"Raoul, I've been there, to his world of unending night. To a world where daylight dissolves into darkness… darkness."

_And all my thoughts of unhappiness or fear with it, _I remembered, but didn't linger on that for too long.

"Raoul, I've seen him. Can I ever forget that sight? So distorted, deformed, it was hardly a face in that darkness..." That was cruel. Not even Erik had said that about himself, and he had been brutal with self-description.

I couldn't just leave it at that. There was so much more to the man than the face, however horrifying it might be.

"But his voice filled my spirit with a strange sweet sound. In that night there was music in my mind." I felt myself holding something for the first time since I had seen Buquet's body, and looked to see the rose that he had given me that night. A reminder of the dream that had been there, once.

"And through music, my soul began to soar!" I sang, reaching for the same shiver inducing quality within it as he had, but not doing very well. I suddenly felt cold, and pulled the cloak, Madame Giry had given me, around my shoulders tighter.

"And I heard as I'd never heard before…"

"What you heard was a dream and nothing more," Raoul assured me, but to no avail. I knew he was trying to be nice and not tell me I was crazy, but it didn't convince me. I knew deep within it wasn't a dream, the memory of his eyes were too real. I remembered the look he had given me that was full of mixed emotions.

"Yet in his eyes, all the sadness of the world. Those pleading eyes, that both threaten and adore." Both of which he had shown to me, and I wasn't sure which one he had meant. Was he truly an Angel, or a monster? My head was full of confusing thoughts, swirling in different directions.

"Christine, Christine," Raoul murmured, drawing closer to me. The tone he used reminded me of the way Erik had said it once. Could that tone have deceived me? Was I just a thing for him to possess, along with rest of the opera house?

_Christine…_ Erik's haunting voice whispered to me, and I looked up. It must've been my imagination, but I could have sworn I had heard him.

I felt Raoul's arms wrap consolingly around my shoulders and his head press against my curls.

"Christine… do you remember that day, on the pond together?" I nodded, feeling a few tears gather. The day my father had died, I would never forget though I would like to. Father had given me Erik that day, or did he? Oh, it was all so confusing. I wished Father could have chosen for me, and save me this torture!

"You remember we were betrothed?" I felt my mouth open and I turned around.

Father _had_ chosen. He had given me to Raoul. I knew I did not love Raoul, but if Father had chosen, I would follow his decision. Taking one last look at the rose in my hand, I let it fall, along with my childhood dream.

"No more talk of darkness, forget these wide-eyed fears. I'm here, nothing can harm you, my words will warm and calm you," Raoul told me gently. I tried to convince myself to love the face I looked at. He was handsome, very handsome, so why was it so hard for me to fall for him?

"Let me be your shelter, let daylight dry your tears. I'm here with you, beside you to guard you and to guide you." It was time to follow my father's lead, and go with this man. Maybe fate had not destined Erik and I to be together, maybe I was making the right choice by staying here, like everyone thought I should.

"Say you'll love me every waking moment. Turn my head with talk of summertime. Say you need me with you now and always. Promise me that all you say is true, that's all I ask of you," I told him truthfully. That was all I had ever wanted, to be loved and cared for. To be wanted by someone. Raoul put his arm around me and pulled me into his shoulder.

"Let me be your shelter, let me be your light. You're safe, no one will find you, your fears are far behind you." I took a leap of faith for my father, making sure that if he listened he would be sure I was choosing Raoul, as he wanted. Though, it felt really awkward to sing like this to Raoul after being bitter childhood enemies.

"All I want is freedom, a world with no more night, and you always beside me, to hold me and to hide me." Raoul seemed over-confident at this point, which was not very romantic at all. It was hard to profess my love to him, when I didn't really feel any really, but I decided I had to live with him forever because otherwise I would be unfaithful to father, which I would never _ever_ be. It also didn't help that he kept putting a smug little smirk on his face whenever he thought I wasn't looking.

"Then say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime. Let me lead you from your solitude." He put his arms around me. My head rested against his, a little like how Erik had done it, but much less comfortable and far less sensual. It didn't matter, I had years of this to come, so I had better start enjoying it.

"Say you want me with you here, beside you. Anywhere you go let me go too, Christine that's all I ask of you." He hit a note that was so low and out of his range that I began to laugh a little, which probably looked to him like I was laughing for joy.

"Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime. Say the word and I will follow you." Well, I wouldn't follow him everywhere, but I thought it sounded good. I wasn't even sure who I was singing to.

"Share each day with me, each night, each morning," we sang together, I a bit louder than him so I could drown out his 'off' notes. He leaned in for a kiss, but I stopped him for a moment.

"Say you love me," I requested, for I would have to hear it in words to fully believe his passion for me.

"You know I do," he told me, reaching closer. It wasn't the "I love you" I was looking for, but it would have to do for now.

"Love me, that's all I ask you!" we sang together before I received the second kiss of my life.

It wasn't what I expected after such a length and very clichéd expression of love. His kiss was rough and very sloppy, engulfing my entire mouth in his. I had to use all my will power not to pull away from it and wipe the spit off my lips. I made sure not to open my mouth; I didn't want to swallow any of the drool that was currently pouring out of his mouth.

Eventually, I could no longer bear the sensation of having my mouth chewed slowly by a Great Dane any longer and pulled away to sing to him.

"Anywhere you go let me go too. Love me, that's all I ask of you."

_As long as you don't kiss me again for a while, Raoul. I think I need to take a shot of Carlotta's throat spray!_ I thought to myself, wiping it off on his cloak when he looked away.

Karma repaid me immediately, for he kissed me once more, but I pulled away before I was lost in the dark chasm of his mouth once again.

"I must go, they'll wonder where I am," I explained, trying to clear my head. The kiss had awakened many new questions in my head, and a new realization. Now that I was Raoul's, he would take me to his estate, and I would never see Erik again.

"Christine, I love you." Now he said it! I just smiled at him, praying it wouldn't give way to the look of scorn that was threatening to burst out.

"Order your fine horses, and meet them at the door," I told him, but he didn't seemed to get what I meant by that.

"And soon, you'll be beside me,"

I pulled him through the door with me.

"You'll guard me and you'll guide me… tomorrow, Raoul. I have to rest tonight," I lied in a murmur, my emotions forbidding me from leaving. There were many thoughts I needed to consider, and what better place to mull things over than up here?

He nodded, though looking a little disappointed.

"All right. Goodnight, Little Lotte…de Chagny," he called with a dashing smile and flounced down the stairs. I had thought that name was bad by itself, but apparently it could get worse. I waited until the sound of his footsteps died away before coughing with the disgust I hid while with him.

Stepping out onto the stairs, I was about to walk to the edge to look at the view below, when I was stopped in my tracks.

Kneeling over the rose I had dropped was Erik, who sung softly to it as he lifted it up, obviously in the deepest misery.

"I gave you my music, made your song take wing and now, how you've repaid me. Denied me and betrayed me." Looking up, I could see a little of his face, the tears that glinted in the light of the full moon.

_All my fault, all my fault._

"He was bound to love you, when he heard you sing… Christine…" He began to sob, holding the rose against his face. Though promised to Raoul, I still couldn't help but ache for him, and I stepped forward.

"Erik…" He looked around wildly, all of his sorrow suddenly gone and replaced by thunderous rage.

"You…" he hissed, and I felt all my courage dissolve.

"I… I… Erik~" He cut me off.

"You're going to explain yourself, aren't you? You want your _Angel_ to forgive you for your treachery, but you're too late! The Angel of Music has taught his last lesson, now let's see if _Little Lotte's _learned to follow instructions. GO!" he growled, advancing at me. I stepped back to the railing.

"Please~"

"You will curse the day you did not do, all that the Phantom asked of you!" he roared, and I looked away realizing my attempts were in vain.

"Please… I know what it's like," I whispered, "To suddenly have nothing, when everything was going right."

There was a silence and I looked up expecting to meet his eyes. Only the statues stood before me. Erik was gone.

I sighed and looked down at the world below me. So peaceful compared to the turmoil churning within me.

A window opened beneath me and I heard the sound of voices.

"~really don't see why it's such a big fuss. Christine is obviously quite happy with him," Madame Giry's voice muttered below. I was surprised to hear Meg's reply.

"That's not the point. He's not just any man to me," she protested, wistfully. I leaned over the railing. Whom did she speak of?

"Meg, he's just a stupid fop. He won't remember you in a day's time." she told her. I could tell Meg took those words with a grain of salt.

"You don't know anything, mother. He's no fop, he's wonderful and a perfect gentleman. But you wouldn't think so, you hate everyone." I could almost picture Madame Giry's face tighten, as it always did when she was furious.

"He wouldn't care for a stupid little ballerina girl like you, who can't even pirouette!" She stopped abruptly, seeming to realize how much her words stung.

"Oh, Meg… I… I didn't mean it like~" Meg cut her off.

"Shut up! Shut up! You don't care about me at all, do you? You just care whether or not I perform well and that stupid ghost who, may I remind you, killed someone tonight! You've never loved anyone; I bet you don't know what it means to love! You hate me, and you know what? I hate you too!" The sound of a door slamming was heard after that and I stood in silence.

_All my fault, all my fault. _

I staggered back, not wanting to hear any more, and fell against one of the statues.

I had not only broken Erik's heart that night, but my best friend's as well. It was only later I realized that I had also broken my own.


	11. Chapter 11

**CHAPTER ELEVEN:  
Christine POV**

I didn't see Erik again after that night, not until after my lonely little Christmas at the Chagny mansion.

Madame Giry rarely stopped by to say hello to me, since I overheard the conversation, and neither did Meg. She seemed to loathe me beyond all reason, and whenever I would see her, I hid so she wouldn't be filled with inevitable jealousy.

So, as I withered away from my friends except Raoul, who I didn't really count as a "friend" per se, I did not receive many Christmas gifts, other than the simple chain that I was given by Philippe.

I was very fond of Philippe. He was very kind and considerate. A perfect gentlemen in other words. Even though I was widely perceived as a mad woman within the opera house, he always was very compassionate when I sat alone and cried, which happened frequently. In many ways he was the complete opposite of Raoul.

Raoul, I soon learned, was not the genteel man I had once thought. If I said so much as one wrong word at dinner or stumbled on the stairs ever so slightly, I would be dragged into a private room and smacked across the face for my imperfection.

I quickly taught myself to do as little as possible in fear he might strike me. But even in my reserved state, he would still berate me.

I did nothing to prevent these outbursts of anger, because I knew it had been my fault, and that Father would not send a man to punish me if I hadn't done any wrong.

I had seen Raoul do this to many of the other girls who came around the household (Raoul didn't seem too keen to attach himself to only one woman at a time), and was soon accustomed to the feeling of bruises up and down my body.

I had knocked a goblet of wine over the week before, and had been appropriately thrashed for it, so I hadn't been expecting Raoul to give me anything for Christmas.

I was sitting alone in the manor, when Raoul rushed in with a tiny box. I took it from him, knowing exactly what it was.

Enclosed within was a large, gaudy diamond ring that blinded me with its sparkle. It was much too vulgar for my taste, but I smiled at him.

"Oh, Raoul. Of course I'll marry you," I agreed with as much emotion as I could muster in my dreary state, though he hadn't bothered to ask.

"Splendid! Now, you shall get properly dressed and we will show all the crowd at the Opera Populaire!" That thought filled me with dread. Everyone would see, Meg would never forgive me, and neither would Erik.

"Why don't we keep it a secret?" I suggested, closing the box and sitting it on the table in front of the humongous fireplace fit to roast an ox in. He looked around at me, and I flinched back slightly. He just laughed, as though I was being humorous.

"Nonsense! You shall show it to every last person in there, from the managers to the littlest ballerina. Why, even the Opera Ghost will know of our engagement!"

Oh, I hoped Erik wouldn't find out. I'd rather sink into a hole and live out the rest of my days as a worm than have him catch me married to Raoul.

"We can't do that!" I told him, a spurt of truth leaking out. He looked around, surprised. I usually never argued with him, though many of his choices were unadvisable. He looked confused.

"Why not?" he asked, making me stutter before I came up with a lie.

"It's… a custom within the theatre. A couple announces to the company they're engaged after the next production." I thought that would delay the news for a while. Erik's antics last time had hindered any other scheduled operas.

This seemed to do the trick for Raoul.

"All right. It doesn't sound like a normal custom," he remarked, more thoughtfully than was usual. I was glad that he hadn't turned angry. My body ached enough as it was.

"Yes, well, performers aren't the most normal people!" I laughed halfheartedly, leading him from the room. He nodded seeming to agree for once.

"Well, we'll be going to the Masquerade Ball on New Years Eve and I won't have you missing that, Little Lotte," he told me, grabbing me beneath my jaw firmly, but in a way that 'appeared' very gentle.

"Wouldn't think of it," I replied with a strained smile, fighting to breathe. He smiled in return, and left me alone again.

I sighed as he left, massaging my throat. More than likely Meg would be there. Wouldn't that be fun.

I was in a time of doubt, and whenever I had been like this, I would pray to my father. This had always helped me. At least, it let me think over everything out loud.

Sliding off the couch, I pressed my palms together.

Every man that I loved was hurting me, Raoul, Erik, even the thought of Father was torment.

To Raoul, I was just one more woman to woo, like the hundreds of others that swarmed the manor house. I was just a toy in his vast kingdom of trinkets that he called upon at his leisure.

To my Father, I felt that he thought I was still a little girl, needing his advice every moment of the day.

But to Erik, I was not sure what I was. On one hand, he had shown me wondrous affection, more than I could ever have imagined. I was his Angel of Music, the one thing he seemed to care for in a wretched world that had never loved him.

On the other hand, I was his tormentor, his worst adversary. I would betray him, and betray him again, until his heart shattered like the mirrors that mocked him. I taunted him with an offer to return those feelings he felt for me, extended a hand to lead him into the light, but would pull it back each time he reached for it.

In response to this, he had forced all the wrath he possessed upon me, until I was a sobbing mess on the floor. As soon as he was finished punishing me, he returned to his gentler self, to confuse me more.

I knew I should just forget him, but somehow I simply couldn't. No matter what I was doing, I couldn't seem to shake that man from my mind. Though I was surely crazy for thinking it, I couldn't help but wish to be back in that first night I had met him, back in his arms once again.

I had to forget these thoughts. I wouldn't get any sleep if I continued to think like this. But still, I could not help but imagine his arms around me, tender and loving.

Maybe, just maybe, I would see him again. But I didn't want to get my hopes up.

It was then I decided the Masquerade Ball wouldn't be so bad. I was desperate to get away from this mansion. No, prison! And the ball was a perfect escape.

New Years' Eve would not come quickly enough.


	12. Chapter 12

**CHAPTER TWELVE. **

**Christine POV**

If my father ever answered me as soon as I asked, I didn't hear his reply. For a couple of days later I was attending the Masquerade Ball with Raoul for my first time.

I immediately noticed that we were the only people not wearing masks. It was obvious that Raoul had not gotten the memo.

As we pulled up in our carriage, I heard the sound of fireworks booming above my head and I jumped out as quickly as I could, to look at the bursts of red and green. I had only seen fireworks once before, at one of my father's fancier galas, so the charm was still there. Unfortunately, I could not watch the spectacle for long, as Raoul took my arm and led me into the gold-bedecked main parlour.

I looked down at my engagement ring that dangled on a chain around my neck.

"Think of it, a secret engagement." Raoul was not listening, gazing over at Meg who was dressed more scandalously than usual. I turned his head so he looked at me, letting his disloyalty slide.

"Look, your future bride. Just think of it," I whispered.

"But why is it secret, what is there to hide? You promised me." Yes, I had promised him, but I had also promised Father. He pulled my head closer and kissed me, but I pulled away.

"Not in public, please, Raoul, they'll see," I murmured, looking around. The walls had eyes here, and hopefully not the green eyes that I had thought of each day since the night I last saw them.

"Well, then let them see. It's an engagement, not a crime." It wasn't a crime for him, but it filled me with guilt to even think about the kisses I had shared with Raoul right before Erik's hidden eyes. It was surely a crime to break someone's heart.

"Christine, what are you afraid of?" he asked, taking my arm. I looked up at him. He wouldn't understand, he thought Erik a figment of my imagination. He would never believe that I longed to see a murderer's face.

"Let's not argue, please pretend. You will understand in time!" I told him as I pulled him onto the dance floor. Clasping hands with him, we waltzed around the room. As we passed Carlotta, I saw her raise her mask a little, as if she wanted to smack me with it. _I'd like to see her try,_ I thought to myself, but the moment was gone.

As the music slowed, Raoul leaned in and kissed me again. He seemed to enjoy the sensation for, ever since our first kiss, he would keep necking with me and at the most inconvenient moments as well. Like now, in front of the whole company of the Opera Populaire. I chanced a glance at where Meg stood but she avoided my gaze.

The dancers had moved onto the stairs and were coming down in a wild procession. Each one wore a unique costume, some more extravagant than others.

One man wore a thick suit, which looked as though it was made of pompoms. I had to laugh at the sight of this huge teddy-bear-like man and looked around to see if any other funny faces would catch my attention.

I spotted a woman wearing a mask with one half painted black and one painted white, similar to Erik's mask.

A creeping suspicion seeped into the back of my mind. It seemed almost too perfect for him to slip into the festivities unnoticed. A masked ball, whose idea had this been when there was a masked murderer on the loose? They might as well have sent him an invitation.

But Erik shied away from the public, and only appeared to me alone. He wouldn't risk being in front of people, would he?

Apparently he would, for at the climax of the dancing, the lights died and a figure dressed completely in red appeared at the top of the grand staircase.

I felt my smile fall. I had wanted to see him again, but I knew that if he appeared, he would not be happy with me at all.

Erik did not wear his usual half-mask, but a full white mask with sculpted veins running all across it. In his hand he held a black leather case, used to hold scores. I wondered what it could be for, but forgot all about that when I saw the sword dangling from his belt. Erik truly meant business tonight.

The staircase cleared instantly, and there was a direct path from me to him. I felt Raoul press against my back and I looked up to see his face had lost all of its confidence, whiter than a sheet.

I looked back to Erik who strode woodenly down the steps, each footstep crashing in my heart like thunder.

"Why so silent, good messieurs? Did you think that I had left you for good?" he asked mockingly, with a little smirk on his face. He was actually enjoying this. It was entertainment to him.

"Have you missed me, good messieurs? I have written you an opera." He held up the black book that he carried.

"Here I bring the finished score. Don Juan Triumphant!" He threw it down at the managers' feet, the white papers sliding out of their positions. In the same fluid movement he drew his cutlass, glancing around the room with the same delight as a child at their first day at the fair, though I was certain most children weren't as violent.

"Fondest greetings to you all, a few instructions just before rehearsals start." Raoul squeezed my shoulder and fled the room, leaving me to fend for myself. Coward!

Erik, however, did not turn his attentions in my direction just yet. Instead, to my deepest amusement, he turned to La Carlotta.

"Carlotta must be taught to act, not her normal trick of _strutting_ 'round the stage," he sneered softly, sticking his sword into her hat (which looked as if a bird had landed on her head) and jiggling it around a little. I smiled a little in spite of the mood, as Piangi stepped forward to defend his lady. This was not a very valiant effort. Erik simply stuck the sword against his paunchy belly.

"Our Don Juan must lose some weight, it's not healthy in a man of Piangi's age." This was amusing, but what he had said slightly startled me. If Piangi was to be Don Juan, didn't that mean I was to be his counterpart? The thought of his thick, sweaty hands around me, even if just acting, did not appeal to me in the slightest.

Erik had already turned to the managers who, for such boasting men, shriveled at the very glance of their tormenter.

"And my managers must learn that their place is in an _office_~" He swung the sword, which he had been using for a moment as a walking stick, in their faces, and they whimpered like dogs, sinking nearly to the floor.

"Not the arts." His gaze flickered to me, and he put away his sword.

"As for our star, Miss _Christine Daae_." I looked away from him, ready for the torrent of insults sure to come my way.

"No doubt she'll do her _best_, it's true her voice is good. She's knows though, should she wish to excel, she has much still to learn. If pride will let her return to me her teacher… her teacher." I found myself gazing back into his eyes just as entranced as I had been the first night we had met, and strangely enough he seemed to be under the same spell.

After all the torment I had put him through, he still was offering to take me back. There was a change in his eyes, the defenses that usually barricaded himself with had given way to emotion. He seemed almost vulnerable in his desperation, the longing evident in his stare. Suddenly I was not aware of the people in the room who constantly watched, wondering what was happening and why such a terrifying man had stopped in his tracks. It didn't matter where I was, or how many people were there. He was here and that was all I understood at that moment.

I stepped forward shakily, still not sure why he would forgive me so easily. He mirrored me, almost automatically. We stopped when there were no more steps to take, so I was just beneath his nose.

I caught sight of Raoul running along the hallway towards the ballroom out the corner of my eye, and saw him doing up his belt. He had left me to go to the 'John'. What a dashing man I had as a fiancé!

As soon as he noticed I was standing before Erik, he began to sprint, drawing a sword from his newly attached belt. This seemed to stir Erik from his trance, and he looked down at the diamond ring hanging directly in the middle of my bosom. Not so much of a secret engagement now.

To my alarm, he plucked the ring off my chest, breaking the chain for good measure.

"Your chains are still mine; you belong to me!" he hissed, and hurried up the stairs away from me. I knew this truce between us couldn't have lasted.

Wrapping his cape around himself, he disappeared down a hole in the floor with a burst of flame and smoke. I stared after him, wondering how he had managed to get the powder he had used to start the flame into his hand so quickly.

I couldn't ponder this long, Raoul rushed past me and jumped down the hole, probably thinking Erik had taken me along with him.

"No Raoul!" I cried, picking up my dress and running after him. I knew Erik would be merciless to Raoul, especially after our rendezvous. I didn't want to have to deal with my dead husband's will at sixteen.

Holding my dress to one side, I jumped into the hole after them.


	13. Chapter 13

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN:  
Christine POV**

I found I was in room of swirling mirrors, reflecting countless images of myself, and Raoul who swung his sword around uselessly for Erik had obviously long gone.

Erik's reflection appeared in the mirror before me and I whirled around, but there was no one there. He was playing with us, cat and mouse, but I would not fall victim to something this easy. Keeping my head, unlike Raoul who screamed and panted as though he had run a marathon, I began feeling around the mirrors for a secret exit.

The sound of a cracking whip echoed through the room, and I saw the same lasso that had been around Buquet's neck hanging from the ceiling. I felt myself lose the little colour I had left in my face.

Raoul did not take this as well as I did, promptly passing out on the floor. I raised an eyebrow, but didn't do anything against it. This was getting serious; I had to find a way out.

Feverishly, I began hurrying as fast as my gown would allow around the room, checking the mirrors for passages.

Suddenly, a hand touched my shoulder and I spun around, ready to fight back against Erik if need be. I was met, however, with Madame Giry's solemn face, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

"Pick up your fiancé, and let me take you somewhere safe." I Raoul's arm, and Madame Giry took the other. Dragging Raoul along a passage, we headed up the dark hallways until we reached her private quarters that I had only been in once before, when I had first arrived.

Laying Raoul down on the floor, he suddenly came to, jolting up violently. He looked around for a minute and saw I was there and seemed to relax a little, but looked over at Madame Giry.

"Madame Giry, you~"

"Please, I know nothing more than anyone else," she told him, turning to the mirror and undoing the clasp holding up her dark brown braids. Raoul got up to his feet.

"Well, I'm not going to stay here and worry about it, I'm going…" he trailed off. Giry looked up at him in the mirror cynically.

"To do something about it?" she asked, with doubt lacing her voice. He grimaced, obviously rethinking the matter.

"I'm going to get some rest. Er… will you be safe here, Christine?" I didn't look at him, as to not show my pleasure. I couldn't have stood another minute in that stuffy house.

"Yes, you get some rest, love," I murmured softly, and he bade both of us goodnight before departing. I looked at Madame Giry.

"He's hopeless, you know," she told me, removing the bobby pins that riddled her hair.

"Will you tell me? Erik's past?" I asked quietly, and she paused for a moment. Her watchful eyes met mine.

"I would never tell a soul," I promised, and she sighed.

"All right, but only because you need to know, and for no other reason." She turned to me, her eyes full of remembrance that seemed almost bittersweet.

**Flashback:**

**Antoinette POV**

"_Come on, Antoinette!" Marie yelled, pulling me along behind her. I sighed and followed her further into the camp. All of these gypsies roaming around didn't comfort me. Gypsies had robbed my parents once and now I feared them more than any pirate or pickpocket._

_All around me were freaks of nature: men who could swallow knives whole, contortionists, fortunetellers, bearded women. I even saw a little pick-pocketing monkey! _

_From inside a shady tent, a man beckoned us over. _

"_Come, come and see the greatest attractions of all, pretty ladies. Come and see the Devil's Child!" he persuaded, and I was pulled along with the excited throng around me. I didn't like looking at people and their differences. I saw no entertainment in laughing at others. But I thought if I were to watch the show, I would get the best spot I could. _

_I held onto the bars of the cage and peered in cautiously. Inside was a small boy, maybe half my age at the time. He wore only pants and a dirty sack over his head that had eyeholes and a small mouth hole. The bag boy turned my way. Green eyes with golden flecks gazed morosely back at me for a moment, as though wishing he was on the other side of those bars. _

_Before I could call to him, he had already turned his attention back to a little roughly hewn monkey toy he held. He placed two metal cymbals within its woven hands and tapped them together softly, so a pretty ring reached my ears. _

_His master crawled through the cage hole, a wood plank in his hands and I felt a surge of fear for the boy, though I had only just seen him. He could not possibly be that bad, why was he considered the freak?_

_With venom, the man who owned him, kicked the monkey out of his hands, and the boy collapsed on the ground, though no harm had come to him. He was mercilessly beaten with the plank. The other girls around me laughed as if it was the most hilarious thing in the world to watch a young boy be clubbed into submission._

_I clung to the bars tighter, willing myself not to cry for him._

"_Please!" I called to the boy's master. "Please, stop! For goodness sake, please don't hurt him!"_

_The throng, and the master looked around at me, seeming very confused that I felt sorry for the poor creature. Couldn't they see he hadn't done anything wrong, or was it a crime for him to try to be happy?_

_The boy, whose chest was now bleeding from the repetitive blows, looked up at me. Cautiously, he dipped his torso in what I realized was a shaky bow. I attempted to curtsy in return but my legs gave out and I just sunk to my knees. _

_His master looked at me with scorn, thinking I was scared of him. _

"_Be quiet, stupid girl!" he hissed before turning back to the bag boy, who cowered instantly at his feet. Holding the boy's hands back so he couldn't cover his face, the man ripped the sack off his head. _

_I felt my expression drop as I looked upon the boy's face for the first time. He was hideous, with folds of mottled skin rippling down his face and one eye sagging a little. It was obvious why he was the best attraction, I felt sick just looking at him._

_The crowd began howling with laughter, although there was still nothing to laugh about. This was the least funny thing I had ever seen in my life._

_They began to throw things at him, old chicken bones and bits of garbage as the man let go of his arms. The boy did not retaliate, although later I knew he could've, but instead, huddled on the floor with his face in his hands while he sobbed bitterly. All of the pity I possessed overflowed at that moment, and I tried to stop the girls around me from throwing their food at him. _

"_Please, Marie! Ginette, Madeline, all of you! Please!" But they did not pay me any attention until the boy had slipped the dirty sack over his head once more. _

_The crowd filed out, knowing the show was over, but I remained for a moment. I could hear his muffled weeping and whispered words of comfort to him from behind the bars._

"_It's all right, it's going to be all right." He looked over at me from behind the bag._

"_Why are you talking to me?" he breathed, sounding alarmed but also curious at the same time. His voice was very soft, not at all like the rough-toned gypsies he lived with. I suspected that he had been bought, maybe a poor boy off the street. I reached for his hand but he pulled away from me._

"_You look so helpless, and I can't help but pity you." I heard the sound of the Madame Perrault, the ballet mistress at that time, calling the girls to assemble. _

"_I have to go," I murmured, slipping away from the bars. His hand now shot out and grabbed mine. His hand was colder than ice, but was wonderfully gentle. I shivered at his touch, and his gaze grew more desperate, thinking I was afraid. _

"_No, please! I don't even know your name," he pleaded, looking hastily over at his master, who was busy counting the silver coins he had earned._

"_Antoinette," I whispered back and pulled away from him. He held steadfast to the bars in an attempt to force me back by his side, but I continued on my way. There was nothing I could do to help him, try as I might._

_I was just about to leave the tent, when I heard the choking cry of a man behind me. I looked around and felt my mouth open in shock and horror. _

_The brutal master was being choked by a rope, which had once been his makeshift belt, by none other than the bag boy. I gasped and ran forward, but it was too late for the man collapsed in the cage, dead. _

_The bag boy took his monkey toy and slipped silently out of the cage. He was about to leave when he saw me standing at the door, my eyes wide with fear. Slowly, he took a step forward and I flinched backward, gazing fearfully at the rope that trailed from his hand._

"_Oh, no! Don't be afraid! I won't hurt you." _

_That surprised me, and I let him approach. For a boy of his age, he was tall and very mature._

"_B- but… you killed him," I stuttered, pointing to the grotesquely mangled body of his old master. _

"_You have done me no wrong, mademoiselle." I breathed a sigh of relief, but my calm was soon replaced by fear. The sound of shuffled footsteps reached my ears. _

"_We'll just check in on the Devil's Child, make sure nothing's happened," I heard a gruff voice say a little ways off from our tent. The boy pushed me away and hurried around the other side of his cage._

"_You must go! Never speak of this to them, or anyone! Go!" I ran after him, not wanting him to get caught. I grabbed his icy hand. _

"_No, I don't want you to get hurt~" I protested, but he cut me off, taking my shaking hands._

"_Antoinette, you won't believe me, but I've done things you wouldn't imagine doing. I won't get hurt. No one will know I'm gone 'til morning," he assured me. _

_At that moment a thickly bearded gypsy man, who I had seen at a tarot card stall, entered. His eyes fell on the dead master, and traveled up to where we stood holding each other's hands tightly. I heard the boy swear under his breath._

"_Murderer!" the bearded man shouted, and the boy bolted, pulling me along with him. _

_In and around tents we wove, so quickly I thought I would trip. Thankfully I didn't, for I was sure the boy would've stopped to help me, spelling our doom._

"_Where do you live?" he asked me, ducking as a rock passed by his head. He helped me over a fence with ease. We turned onto the streets of Paris and the opera house loomed ahead of us. _

"_In there," I told him, pointing at the massive structure. His green eyes lit up with wonder. _

"_The opera house… perfect," he breathed so quietly I almost didn't hear him. He looked at me with wary eyes. _

"_Would it be all right if… if I…" I understood what he meant and nodded brightly._

"_I will show you a way in," I murmured, pulling him into an alleyway nearby. I led him to a metal grate in the wall. _

_I pulled it open for him and he jumped through. _

"_Wait for me in the chapel," I instructed and I saw the bag move up and down below me in a nod. _

_Just as he disappeared into the chapel, the mob turned onto the street. _

_The leader of the group barked at me, "You, girl! Have you seen a boy with a dirty bag on his head?" _

_I shook my head fearfully; pressing against the grate I had let him through. The mob decided he had gone down a different path and hurried out again, chanting as they went. I breathed a sigh of relief. _

_Hurrying into a sidedoor, I hurried down the stairs to the chapel where the boy stood waiting for me. _

_I grabbed him and pulled him along a labyrinth of corridors that wound downward deep into the ground. All the while, the boy would whisper to himself, as if he was writing a map with words._

"_Turn corner, walk straight down hallway…"_

"_Why are you doing that?" I asked finally, fed up with his hissing voice in my ear. He looked into my eyes, seeming to read my emotions. _

"_I want to remember everything, so when you get rid of me, I'll have the memories." _

_I was rendered speechless for a minute or two. I couldn't believe how calmly this boy could speak of being rejected, as if it was as natural as breathing. I had to wonder what had happened to this poor creature._

"_I'm not going to get rid of you," I told him, surprising him greatly._

"_You're not?"_

"_I can't let you live out there. You'll be captured, or worse!" He stared into my eyes as though I was the strangest creature he had ever seen._

"_Who are you?" he breathed. "Are you an Angel?"_

"_Excuse me?" _

"_I can't think of anyone else who could be that compassionate."_

"_No, I'm not an angel," I told him, and he seemed to deflate a little._

"_Oh. It would've been nice if you were. I would like to go to Heaven one day." That remark nearly broke my heart in two, but I withheld my emotions. _

_We began to wade across a lake to a special room my father had made for me before he died. _

_My father had been an architect and made secret passages in the opera house for me, so I would be amused while he worked. He died when one of the metal tiles had fallen off the roof and struck his head. I had missed him for many months, and stayed at the opera house to pursue his dream for me: to become a dancer. _

_I showed the boy my secret room at the end of the lake and he climbed onto the rocky shore, looking around in awe. It was essentially a large cavern with a bed resembling those in a prison, but he seemed overwhelmed by it. _

"_Do you like it here?" He looked around at me, with flashing eyes._

"_Like it? Just look at it!" He walked the perimeter, running his hands along the rough walls._

"_It's like a palace," he breathed. I laughed._

"_Hardly, it's even not close to what a palace looks like," I chuckled with a little smile. _

"_Well, not now. But just think! If there were stairs leading up there, and, oh!, a bedroom, and an organ!"_

"_An organ?"_

"_Yes, how else to play music?" he said, as if I were a fool for asking. "And there would be a boat, so we wouldn't have to walk through the water. And a portcullis! And…" He trailed off, sitting on the ground. _

"_Antoinette…I...I… thank you," he murmured finally. _

"_You are welcome, I will help you, and give you food as often as I can," I told him, before stepping into the water again._

"_Antoinette?" _

_I looked back at him, expectantly. "Is there anything I can do to repay you?"_

_I thought for a moment, and came up with a request._

"_Tell me your name," I asked curiously. I couldn't tell, but I think from behind the bag he was smiling a little._

"_Erik." _

_I nodded once. _

"_Goodnight, Erik," I murmured softly, treading through the water carefully so as not to fall._

"_Goodnight, Antoinette."_

_I sat in the chapel, staring at the picture of my father, when I noticed an object on the floor. It was the monkey that Erik had brought with him. It gave me comfort that I had a friend here, and not the snobbish ballerinas who laughed at the unfortunates._

_I picked it up and thought of returning it, but decided to keep it until the morning. Putting it under my arm, I hurried up the stairs, not knowing that many years later Erik would comfort another girl here. _

**Christine POV**

Madame Giry held the monkey toy she had described in the story, gazing at its roughly fashioned face with tears in her beady eyes. Raoul had come back for the last half of the story and was sitting to the side, looking untouched by such a sorrowful tale.

"I hid him from the world's cruelty. He has known nothing of life in the outside world, except in this opera house," she told me, for she ignored Raoul the entire time. She shook her head, trying hard not to cry, which I had never seen her do. I, as well, was blinking back some tears, especially since the part when he had been playing with his toy monkey in the cage. I had once had a toy monkey as well. I had loved the dear thing so much, but lost it when I moved to the opera house.

"It was his playground, and now it is his artistic domain. He's a genius."

Raoul grunted in disbelief, but she let this pass.

"He's an architect, a designer, a composer and a magician: he's a genius!" she cried again, wiping her eyes.

"But clearly Madame Giry~" We both looked at Raoul, who was making his first comment of the night, "Genius has turned to madness."

This seemed to do it for Madame Giry, who through the years had clearly gained strong motherly affections for Erik.

"That's it, monsieur. I can not stand it any longer." She walked out of her room, slamming the door. We sat in silence for a moment, before the door opened again.

She walked back in, angrier than before.

"This is my room, out!" she ordered Raoul, who did not complain. He departed and she sunk down before her vanity, her head in her hands.

"Madame~"

"Please! You can call me Antoinette, my dear." I made to pat her shoulder, but refrained and sat uncomfortably in my chair.

"Antoinette… I would comfort you, but I don't know how," I told her truthfully. She looked up at me and gave a weak smile.

"You need just as much comfort as I do, mademoiselle." I nodded, feeling tears trickle down my cheeks once again.

"What do I do?" I whispered, "I don't know who to love, and I'm so confused! Father sent me two gifts, but which do I take? The angel or the man? Is the angel the monster, is the man the monster, or is father the monster? Oh, I don't know!" I cried, and sobbed into my hands. She put her arm around me soothingly, the way I had seen her do to Meg many years ago. Just like my mother might have done to me.

I cursed softly under my breath. I did not need to think of mother now. It would only make me cry more.

"I don't want to cry," I told Antoinette through tears, not finding the strength to wipe them away.

"I know," she told me and held me tighter. I knew that she would be the only person to understand my confusion. It was the same battle for her, to love or let go?

I eventually fell asleep with my head on her lap, clutching monkey that had been lost so many years ago.


	14. Chapter 14

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN:  
Christine POV**

Though I was staying at the opera house, that did not stop Raoul from visiting me. He would guard my room every night, but not really do the smartest job of it. He usually fell asleep halfway through the night, which would have made it much easier for Erik to swoop in and steal me, had he not been so displeased.

I didn't blame him. I had betrayed Erik more than once now, professed my love to another man, and attended a ball wearing an engagement ring. That was more than enough to make him angry. And yet, he had still offered to take me back each time we met. He certainly was persistent in his efforts.

I didn't know why he hadn't captured me at night. It was a walk in the park for someone like him. Raoul was a such a heavy sleeper that someone could've driven sixty carriages past him and he would've slept like a baby.

I often would stay awake in case Erik came, as I was sure Raoul wouldn't be able to defend me. I wasn't so much scared that he would come one night, but more afraid that he would hurt someone else, forcing me into whatever torture he was surely planning. I didn't want a guilt like that on my plate, and the very thought of Meg, Madame Giry, maybe even Raoul getting hurt was enough to keep me up shivering at night.

I kept myself busy each evening by playing with the monkey toy Madame Giry had given me. It was really quite cuddly and lovable once you looked past its patched and frayed exterior. I was growing fonder of it as the nights went by.

I remembered when my father had given me a toy monkey when I was very little. I would run around with it all day, climbing up trees and pretending I was the Queen of the forest. Father would always play along, acting the part of a great bear for me to wrestle. I missed those days so much.

A sharp pang of reality hit me. Today was the anniversary of the day my father had died, and I had not gone to pay my respects to him. Raoul kept me indoors the whole day, and I had completely forgotten. It was very late, but that didn't matter to me. I had stayed up later this week worrying, and Raoul was most likely asleep anyway. He tried so hard, but to no avail. His pitiful attempts actually were stirring some sympathy in me, but I didn't think of that right now.

Slipping out of bed, I grabbed a purse that held a couple of coins, and wrapped a shawl around my shoulders. Opening the door cautiously, I was relieved to see that Raoul was fast asleep, but I tread softly to be on the safe side.

Heading down the stairs, I followed the path I knew led to the outdoor stables.

I saw it was overcast, and looked as though it was going to snow, but I was only going out for a half an hour maybe at most, so I didn't reconsider. The old stable master waddled over to me.

"Monsieur." I pressed the purse into his palm as I said it.

"Where to, mademoiselle?" he asked, pocketing it. I moved away quickly as I replied.

"The cemetery."

I headed to the hook where I kept my mother's funeral gown, and pulled it down over my arm. I spotted a glass of roses, some withering purple, others still a fresh red, and decided to take them along to place at his gravesite. It was the least I could do.

Changing into the black dress, I attached a cape, for it had turned cold. Already snowflakes were gently falling, so I tied my hair back with a wispy black scarf so I could keep snowflakes out of my hair.

Taking the roses in my hand, I walked down the cobblestone path leading to the road. A carriage led by a black horse stood at the end of the path waiting for me.

The driver was not the same as before. A man in a black cloak covering all but the left side of his face held the reins firmly, keeping the horse calm. I climbed in and he looked at me expectantly. I realized he must need instructions of where to go.

"To my father's grave, please," I directed him. This was vague, for there were many graveyards in Paris, but he seemed to know exactly where I meant. The carriage lurched forward.

We soon entered the forest beyond which the cemetery lay, and I began thinking about Erik once again. Why could I never get that man out of my mind?

I started to sing softly to myself, for no real reason at all.

_In sleep he sang to me, in dreams he came. That voice which calls to me and speaks my name. _

I stepped out of the carriage, brushing tears from my eyes. I felt something like a hand touch my shoulder and I turned around to look back at the driver, but he wasn't looking at me. With a flick of his wrist, the carriage drove away and I walked into the cemetery.

"Little Lot~ Chrissy," I caught myself, "Thought of everything and nothing. Her father promised her the Angel of Music. Her father promised her…" Did he come through on that promise? I began to sing, to my father and to Erik. Somehow, I knew both listened, though far away.

"You were once my one companion, you were all that mattered. You were once a friend and father. Then my world was shattered." Could I truly say it? Did I really want him back, even if he hated me?

"Wishing you were somehow here again, wishing you were somehow near. Sometimes it seemed if I just dreamed, somehow you would be here. Wishing I could hear your voice again, knowing that I never would. Dreaming of you helped me to do all that you dreamed I could."

I looked at the angels around me, although pretty, were not comforting at all. They were sculpted from solid stone and would not feel for me now or ever.

"Passing bells and sculpted angels, cold and monumental, seem for you the wrong companions. You were warm and gentle."

This was true for both Erik and my father. Both had been increasingly kind, and had not asked anything in return. And they both had disappeared from my life, just when I needed their guidance the most.

"Too many years, fighting back tears. Why can't the past just die?" I had often wished this to be so, my past was a time where I didn't want to dwell, but found myself forced to remember.

"Wishing you were somehow here again, knowing we must say goodbye. Try to forgive, teach me to live~" _Without you_, I thought, "Give me the strength to try!"

Inevitable tears began to form as I approached my father's grave.

"No more memories, no more silent tears. No more looking across the wasted years… Help me say good bye."

I sank down on my knees at the bottom of the steps to my father's mausoleum. I looked up at the cold building that held someone once so warm.

"Help me say goodbye." I hung my head, feeling icy tears stain my cheeks as the snowflakes fluttered to the ground and the icy wind swirled misty snow around me. All was very quiet, almost too quiet. There wasn't a sound to be heard other than my shaky sobs. Through the mist around me, a voice reached my ears.

"Wandering Child so lost, so helpless. Yearning for my guidance," sang a sweet voice that I knew so well. Erik was here, and yet again he was there to comfort me when no one else was. But I still had to make sure it was truly him.

"Angel or Father, friend or Phantom. Who is it there, staring?"

"Have you forgot your Angel?" It was him, I knew it was. No other voice could sound so pure.

"Angel, oh speak! What endless longings echo in this whisper!" I stood up, ready to walk to him as I had on New Year's Eve. A pleasant glow was radiating from the mausoleum, and the cold wind didn't affect me anymore. I was warm inside.

"Too long you've wandered in winter, far from my fathering gaze," he sang, his timbre resonating in my chest. That statement was very true. He had always been like a father to me, a protector and a friend.

"Wildly my mind beats against you, yet my soul obeys!" Slowly I began to walk up the stairs towards him as we sang a beautiful duet to each other.

"Angel of Music, I denied you turning from true beauty! Angel of Music, my protector. Come to me, strange angel!" I sang, glad that I could walk into his arms safely and hide from my uncertainty. I was always sure of my feelings with Erik.

Just like on our first meeting, he hissed, "I am your Angel of Music. Come to me, Angel of Music!"

I was just about to enter the open doors, when the sound of hoof beats startled me.

"Wait!" Raoul cried, vaulting off of his horse. The light in the mausoleum was gone and I suddenly felt dazed.

"Raoul," I murmured, not quite sure why he had come. He ran up to me, drawing his sword.

"Whatever you believe, this man, this thing is not your father," he told me urgently. I knew that. I had known from the beginning and was just about to tell him when a loud _swoosh_ above me took me by surprise.

I looked up to see Erik jump off the roof to where I had been standing a moment before. I gasped as I saw him lunge for Raoul with his cutlass that he paraded at the Masquerade Ball. I was about to join their fight, but they jumped down a ledge and into another part of the graveyard.

As I hurried after them, I noticed that Raoul yelled a lot when he struck, whereas Erik was deadly silent, allowing his blade to do the talking. He had many more strategic moves than Raoul, using his cape to distract as he swung. He pushed Raoul to the ground, but his blade hit a fallen log instead of Raoul's face. I was glad he missed. I didn't think I could bear any carnage against either man, both of whom I had come to care for.

Their swords stuck in a metal grate, and I was about to run forward to end this nonsense, when Erik did my job for me, shunting into Raoul so that he fell on his rear. He quickly got onto his feet, however, and the duel continued, now more violently than ever. Apparently Erik wanted to win this quickly.

They ducked behind either side of a gravestone and Erik hid so Raoul couldn't see. He looked around wildly for Erik, but didn't spot him running behind him, which I did.

Erik lunged out for Raoul, and the sound of clashing steel was heard once more. Using his cape, Erik caught Raoul by surprise, putting a large gash in his right arm. Raoul fell into the snow, rolling in agony.

Erik seemed to think he had won, for he turned his back on Raoul and approached me with a triumphant smirk on his face.

I felt myself step forward involuntarily, until I stood just before him. Tentatively, I raised my right hand and touched his shoulder, wondering if he would allow it. He did, putting his arm around my waist and leaning towards me, his lips parting.

I spotted Raoul over Erik's shoulder, his sword raised high. My eyes widened as he swung towards Erik, who was currently busy with me.

Just as Erik's lips were about to meet mine, I pushed him to the ground, so the blade swung through air not flesh. This act was not understood, for Raoul kicked the sword out of Erik's hands and raised his blade up, about to impale his opponent.

"No Raoul!" I cried. I looked at Erik, who gaze rested on me for a moment before flicking back to Raoul's sword. His eyes screamed with outrage at my betrayal. Another betrayal.

"Not like this," I murmured without thinking. Not like this? It was like I wanted him dead!

I glanced to see Erik's reaction, but quickly looked away, scorched by his burning eyes. Raoul followed my instructions (for once) and put his sword away. Taking my arm, he led me to his ivory horse without a moment's pause.

"You cheated," I muttered to him, as he led me away.

"I did what was necessary," he replied, jumping onto his horse first. I looked back at Erik, who was seething at me. _Forgive me, _I mouthed, but his eyes only burnt deeper.

Raoul pulled me onto his horse, and I was carried away with him. It was war now, I could tell from Erik's glare. This war was not simply against Raoul, now it was against me as well.

I hung my head as we rode off. Nothing good would come out of this, and I knew my days with two suitors would soon end. But which one would go? Of that I was not certain. Only time would tell, but I was sure of one thing. Erik would not be so forgiving when we next met.


	15. Chapter 15

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN:  
Christine POV**

I sat in Andre and Firmin's office, staring at my knees, as the people around me decided my fate. They debated whether or not I should sing in the opera Erik had obviously written for me. The storyline of passionate lovers, the costumes, makeup, characters: every "i" had been dotted with a care that only he possessed, to make sure every sentence was perfect for his songbird.

I knew he had loved me, but I had to wonder if he loved me still, after the Hell I was putting both of us through.

"We have all been blind, and yet the answer is staring us right in the face," Raoul told the crowd around me, who listened intently as I played with my gown.

"This could be the chance to ensnare our clever friend."

I doubted that. Erik probably was listening at the door right now, if not in the room disguised as someone else. Didn't they know he knew everything that went on around here? The passages within the walls were his home. He crept around here like it was a walk in the park! I couldn't see how he would be caught.

"We're listening, go on!" the managers begged, tensing in their chairs.

"We shall play his game, perform his work but remember that we hold the ace."

I was the ace. Raoul had told me the plan before we arrived. I was going to offer myself to Erik during the performance, risk life and limb to earn the chance to never have to see him again. But did I want that chance?

I knew for every ace, there were three more, and Erik certainly had a couple extra cards up his sleeve. Raoul confirmed what I was sure everyone had already concluded.

"For if Miss Daae sings, he is certain to attend."

_Not if you sit in his seat he won't, _I thought._ He'll find somewhere you'll never dream he'd be. _Erik wasn't a fool. It was obvious to play this hand of cards. I felt as though I was planning to be captured.

"We are certain the doors are barred," Andre prompted, following his lead. Barred doors? Erik didn't even use doors! He would walk through walls to foil our ploys.

"We are certain police are there," Firmin joined in, glad to have such a 'surefire' plan.

"We are certain that they are armed," Raoul added. I mentally rolled my eyes. Sending a whack load of armed police through the theatre was the most conspicuous thing they could do. Erik would spot them from a mile away!

"The curtain falls, his reign will end!"

~0~0~0~0~

The night of Don Juan Triumphant had arrived. Police marched through the halls, performers bustled backstage, and Raoul went over the plan a thousand times with the managers. The only one who seemed nervous was me.

I spent the entire day in the chapel, singing to my angel, who did not respond, all the while trying not to have an emotional breakdown. As night descended and my moments of freedom began to dwindle, my sobbing only got worse. Eventually, Raoul found me down there.

"Lotte, you must come up now," he told me and I felt more tears flow. I pushed my hand against my head, trying to soothe the raging headache that appeared a few minutes before.

"Raoul, I'm frightened. Don't make me do this," I begged him, biting my lip. I stood up, needing him to cancel this madness and let me simply sit down here forever. I had once loved daylight, but now I despised it.

The day was the time I had to think about the mess I had spawned. At night everything disappeared into darkness and I was free to dream peacefully. But night's hold was not strong enough to make me forget.

"You must, Christine. For everyone's sake," Raoul muttered, which didn't comfort me.

"Raoul, it scares me. Don't put me through this ordeal by fire." He held me, but I knew he would still put me through it, so we would be rid of Erik forever. Maybe I didn't want to be rid of him, maybe I did. It was all so confusing and I didn't know who to listen to, or who to trust.

"He'll take me, I know. We'll be parted forever." And my father would never forgive me.

"He won't let me go."

Raoul continued to hold me, obviously not knowing what to say. That was fine, he usually said the wrong thing anyway.

I pulled away from his grip, walking toward the stained glass angel in the window and sat on the ledge beneath it.

"What I once use to dream, I now dread. If he finds me it won't ever end, and he'll always be there singing songs in my head. He'll always be there singing songs in my head."

Songs of love, songs of protection. But were those songs true? Raoul walked over to where I sat.

"You said yourself he was nothing but a man, yet while he lives he will haunt us 'til we're dead," Raoul remarked, as if this would soothe me. Yes, I knew he was a man, but he was so much more than that. His mind, his soul extended far past the constraints society had. I slipped into his secret world once, but did I want to go back, forever? I found myself thinking aloud.

"Twisted every way, what answer can I give? Am I to risk my life to win the chance to live? Can I betray the man who once inspired my voice~" Again, "Do I become his prey, do I have any choice? He kills with out a thought, he murders all that's good." Then again, Buquet was pretty vile himself, so there wasn't really a loss there, but a murder was a murder was it not?

"I know I can't refuse, and yet, I wish I could. Oh, God! If I agree, what horrors wait for me in this, the Phantom's opera?" I asked aloud, not really sure if I was simply talking to myself, or Raoul or someone else.

"Christine, Christine, don't think that I don't care, but every hope and every prayer rests on you now," Raoul told me, very uncaringly despite how he thought he had said it. Those words only released new questions into my head, and I ran to the door with tears in my eyes.

"Don't be late, Little Lotte!" he called, not seeming to notice the torrent of tears that streamed down my cheeks. I ran up the stairs to a deserted hallway and collapsed, sobbing silently into my hands.

A snake-like voice I knew so well hissed from far below me, traveling unbeknownst to him, straight to my ears through the nearby heating pipes.

"Seal my fate tonight, I'd hate to have to cut the fun short, but the joke's wearing thin. Let the audience in. Let my opera begin!"

A hand touched my shoulder and I looked up. Madame Giry stood over me.

"It is starting, mademoiselle," she told me, taking me away from Erik's echoing voice.

Tonight was the last anyone would hear of this twisted love-triangle. Would it be my father's choice, or the dashing man who had come through dreams, that captured me once and for all?

Only time would tell, but I was sure of one thing: One of my Don Juan's would triumph, and it would be tonight!


	16. Chapter 16

**(A/N: I just wanted to apologize if any chapters have been named with the wrong numbers. I had added a few chapters in between old ones, and forgot to change some of them. I know I haven't updated in a while, and I probably won't get chapters up for the next little while, but I'll see what I can do. Enjoy the next chapter!)**

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN:  
Christine POV**

I stood off stage, watching Piangi belt out garbled words that had taken him ages to memorize. I dreaded the thought of having to face him again. He had already molested me during one scene tonight, and it wasn't even the climax yet! But the show was wrapping up, and there had been no sign of Erik throughout the entire performance, which made the police look like utter idiots.

Piangi had gone off stage and it was almost time for me to go on. Someone caught my arm and I looked around.

Meg stood there, an expression of pity on her face.

"Meg?" I stammered, apprehensively. I hadn't spoken with her for so long. She was almost a stranger nowadays.

"Christine, I know what you've been thinking and I'm so sorry if I caused you any trouble. It's Philippe that I'm in love with, not Raoul."

Everything suddenly made sense. Philippe had been there the day Raoul came. He was remarkably similar in appearance. It was easy to confuse one with the other.

Relief flooded me, and I felt a smile spread across my face.

"Oh, Meg, I was so worried~" The music for my cue began to play and I had to step on stage.

I mouthed, "I'll talk to you later," before beginning to sing.

"No thoughts within her head but thoughts of joy. No dreams within her heart but dreams of love!" I sang, my voice carrying around the theatre. The basket of roses I carried fell. I sat down on my heels and waited for the next lines.

It took a moment, and I assumed Piangi was having trouble putting on his cape, as he had numerous times in rehearsal. In the meantime, I played with the leaves of the roses, acting innocent, while inside I wondered what was taking so long.

A voice reached my ears, but not the one that I had normally heard in rehearsals.

No! It could not be!

"You have come here in pursuit of your deepest urge. In pursuit of that wish, which 'til now has been silent."

I whirled around to lock eyes with Erik, who radiated somewhat of an animalistic mood tonight.

He placed a finger of his lips with a mysteriously passionate gaze, and I forced myself to look away. My thoughts were scattered, divided between keeping my head and making sure Erik wasn't about to act rashly.

"Silent…" he breathed, forcing me to glance back again. He held my gaze long enough to send chills up and down my arms, before allowing my eyes to wander away from his.

"I have brought you, so our passions may fuse and merge. In your mind you've already succumbed to me…" but the rest was lost for I could no longer hear the words, but only the voice. He could have been singing anything in the world to me, and it wouldn't have mattered.

I closed my eyes, basking in his voice, which created a world entirely his own on my eyelids. A world of music and darkness. A world of passion.

He swished his cape, a movement so small but stirring nonetheless. I took the cue he gave and stood up, ready to face him.

I heard him sing, "Our games of make believe are at an end," before slipping into the dream again.

I knew what those words meant. There were no more fake Angels. It was only Erik now, nothing more and nothing less.

He walked to me, his mouth open in song, conveying emotions instead of words.

Turning as he circled around me, I caught a glimpse of Raoul's flabbergasted face. Obviously, he did not understand how Piangi had shrunk several belt sizes so quickly.

Erik caught me around the neck, his hand caressing my skin more lovingly than I could ever have imagined.

I lay against him, not resisting, to Raoul's great dismay. I knew he wanted me to go against Erik, but there was no chance in Hell I was giving away this passion-filled moment for a second's loyalty to Raoul. He had never shown me any affection, other than kissing, and that was not an experience worth remembering.

Erik's hands slid across my neckline and down my arm. They clasped my hand tightly against his chest, which was exposed beneath his open shirt.

His segment of the song had finished and he let my hand go for a moment. My mind fluttered into reality and I looked up at where Raoul stood.

"_Is it him?_"Raoul mouthed, and I quirked my eyebrow up in a 'you've got to be kidding' manner. Instantly he began nodding to Andre and Firmin who seemed to have guessed this revelation for themselves.

For a moment there was silence and my gaze flickered to Erik's. _Go on_, his eyes seemed to say. _Sing, my Angel._

I began to sing, just before I missed my cue. I couldn't begin to think what I was singing and hoped it was the correct lyrics, not a broken up stuttering of what was running through my mind, most of which were variations of "Oh my God," repeating in my mind.

I tuned into my normal thoughts to make sure that I said to him, "I've decided." His lips curled up with triumph, and he began to walk exactly parallel with me up the stairs.

Though everyone around me probably thought so, I simply could not see how being here was so wrong when inside it all felt so right. This seemed like destiny, no, something even more than destiny.

We reached the bridge over the stage and I willed myself not to simply fling my body at him, ready for the taking. There was an audience after all.

With a backward swing of his arm, the cape hanging from his shoulder was removed, and we advanced towards each other singing with as much desire as humanly possible without bursting.

Up here with all the lights shining on us, his usually black hair looked nearly blonde, but as he put his arms around my waist and leaned closer into shadow, it changed back to black.

He spun me around in his arms so that I was pressed against him in the same position as before, which seemed to be his favourite hold. To be truthful, I didn't mind his choice.

His hands slid to my neck, holding my head gently to the side as his face pushed into my black curls.

The music changed to something very familiar to me and he began to sing softly in my ear.

"Say you'll share with me one love one lifetime. Lead me, save me from my solitude."

I opened my eyes, knowing what he was going to do.

"Say you want me with you here, beside you." He pulled to the side, taking hold of my hand in both of his.

"Anywhere you go let me go too~" He slipped his hands over my shoulders and held fast. I slid my hand against his cheek, feeling tears of pure joy rolling down my cheeks.

"Christine, that's all I ask of~" I forgot that I was engaged to Raoul, and forgot that Erik and I were currently standing in front of at least a hundred or so people.

He never finished his sentence, for I slipped my thumb under his mask and tore it off, revealing his disfigurement to the whole of Paris.

It was as if my ears had suddenly been unplugged. My original intention of kissing him shattered as the screams of the crowd deafened me.

I did not look at them. I could only stare at Erik's devastated face.

_You betrayed me…_ He mouthed softly, not able to get the words out. Hot guilt flooded my insides.

"Erik… Erik, I…" He shook his head, angry tears spilling down his cheeks.

The guards around the theatre were hurrying towards the stage and he snatched me into his arms. I fell against his chest as he cut a rope that connected to the grand chandelier. It began to tremble violently, row upon row of dagger-like diamonds threatening to fall at any moment.

"No…" I whispered, looking out at the screaming crowd. So many might perish, and it was all my fault. Everything was always my fault!

I felt the ground give out beneath me and I clutched onto his shirt tightly.

I fell through the darkness, and away from the screams. Once more we had left the world above and disappeared into his. But this time, this world was not gentle, as it had once been. Now it was a world of punishment.


	17. Chapter 17

**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN:  
Meg POV**

I ran through the backstage, still trying to understand all that I had seen tonight. My best friend was in love with the Opera Ghost, I had seen it in her eyes, and he had captured her in his frenzied rage. Not to mention that the opera house was on fire, and that a mob was rapidly forming.

It didn't sound like such a bad idea, and I was about to join them when I saw my mother leading Raoul through the swarms of screaming ballerinas.

"Come this way, monsieur Vicomte. I will show you," she called to him, as they pushed through the frantic crowd.

I hurried over. I had made Christine so much more nervous than I wanted her to be and I had been so wrong. Christine and I hadn't talked for months because of my foolish mistake. It was easy to confuse Raoul and Philippe at first glance, but I couldn't believe I had been so stupid for this long! I had much to apologize for, especially since I had caused this mess during such a traumatic period in our lives.

"I'll come with you," I told him, hurrying along behind him. I was glad my character had dressed like a boy. It would mean I could wander around more freely than I would in a dress. My mother looked around at me.

"No! You must stay here. I can't risk losing you!" she called and was gone, swept away with the crowd. But this time I would not listen.

I was done being the little ballerina, always shunted around because I was a girl. It was time to take action.

Raoul de Chagny wouldn't last five seconds against the Phantom, so _I _would be the one to save the day.

But the way she had been looking at the Phantom, I wasn't so sure if Christine wanted to be saved.

Nevertheless, it was time to man- er woman up and save my best friend. Her life depended upon it.

~0~0~0~0~

**Christine POV**

Erik dragged me down the damp pathways to his lair, as I struggled to get my hand out of his iron grip and not trip at the same time.

"Down once more to the dungeon of my black despair, down we plunge to the prison of my mind. Down that path into darkness deep as Hell!" he yelled at me, though he really didn't need to. The halls echoed any sound, even if it was as quiet as a pin drop, so my ears were ringing. As the mask had come off, so had most of his sanity and I was desperate to calm him down.

"Erik… Erik, please I~" He cut me off, wildly spinning around to look at me.

"Why you ask was I bound in chains in this cold and dismal place? Not for any mortal sin, but the wickedness of my abhorrent face!" he spat, disgusted with himself.

It was not abhorrent. It didn't startle me in the slightest any more. Now, only the monster released from within scared me. This monster was lethal.

Dragged into the lake encircling his home, I tried to get out of his grip, but he fought me, forcing my body against his as he pulled me up onto the land.

"Hounded out by everyone, met with hatred everywhere. No kind words from anyone, no compassion anywhere. Christine…why?" He was now crying, switching emotions quicker than the weather. His hands found my shoulders and shook them once violently.

"Why?" he growled a bit more impatiently. I didn't reply, searching his eyes for the suave man who had been there less than a half an hour ago.

_Because they don't understand, they can't see the true beauty you hold, _I thought, but my throat was too dry to say it aloud. If only the angel in him would come out. This was not the man I knew, not the man I had loved.

_Come back, my Angel, _I begged in my mind. _Don't leave me in the dark._

~0~0~0~0~

**Meg POV**

"This is as far as I dare to go, monsieur," my mother told the Vicomte, who nodded and continued on. I flattened my thin dancer's body against the wall as my mother went passed. Thankfully, her eyes were to busy watching for the Phantom to spot me.

I tentatively stepped after Raoul, who was walking down the stairs as if it were a regular staircase. I took my time, testing each step before I put my full weight on it. It was a good thing I did, for halfway down the stairs, Raoul fell through a trapdoor and was sealed in.

I sighed a little. He was infiltrating the domain of one of the greatest mastermind's ever and he didn't expect any traps? He _was_ a fool, an annoyingly handsome fool.

I hurried down the side of the stairs, and over to the trapdoor. Stepping lightly on the door, it swung open. Beneath a moss-covered grate, that was lowering rapidly, was Raoul. He swam around like an idiot, trying to keep his golden locks out of the water.

"Madeline!" he called up to me. I quirked an eyebrow up with annoyance.

"It's Meg, monsieur," I corrected, remembering how he called Christine 'Charlotte' when he was younger. Obviously, he was not good with names.

"Help me up!" he cried, and I looked around for a something to control the water. The bars were just squeezing down on his head, when I spotted a wheel a little ways down. Leaning over, I spun it to the right a little. The bar instantly began to rise. I spun the wheel until the bar was at the very top. I slid the bars over to the side, locking them in place with a resonating _click_. Raoul swam to the top.

"Thanks, Madeline, I~" He stopped short, seeing something to his right. I looked over and saw a small crawl hole.

"A passage!" I cried, but he had already clambered up it.

"Hey!" I jumped in to the freezing water, and surfaced quickly so I could scramble after him.

Though we were in the home of a murderer, I couldn't help feel excited. I had heard so many tales of the secret passages around me and to go in one was a dream come true.

I just hoped I wouldn't meet the murderer too soon.


	18. Chapter 18

**CHAPTER EIGHTEEN:  
Christine POV**

I finished putting on the wedding dress Erik forced upon me and stepped out of his bedroom. He stood before the dummy of me, staring at the glittering ring in his palm. It was gorgeous, I had to admit, but I simply couldn't think of that.

Marrying him wasn't the thing I was worried about, it wasn't even a threat. I was more upset that both Raoul and Erik were treating me like a prize, a trophy to win and brag about to each other. I did not want to be thrown about so easily.

"Have you gorged yourself at last in your lust for blood?" He did not reply, staring at me with cold eyes.

"Am I now to be prey to your lust for flesh?" He stepped towards me, the hand that held the ring curled into a fist.

"That fate which condemns me to wallow in blood has also denied me the joys of the flesh." He reached for my cheek, but I turned away from him so he wouldn't catch the look of pity filling my eyes. He settled for stroking a lock of my hair that had been let down and I felt myself tremble. Stay strong…

"This face… the infection that poisons our love," he whispered and I looked over at his despairing expression that nearly broke my flimsy resolve. It was not his fault that this love was so difficult. If I hadn't been so stupid, if I hadn't betrayed him so many times!

"This face, which earned a mother's fear and loathing," he murmured, moving over behind me to the disassembled dummy. I didn't look at him. I was sure I would burst into tears if I did.

"A _mask_, my first unfeeling scrap of clothing." I felt a band embed itself in my hair, and I looked down, knowing it was the wedding veil. He came around in front of me.

"Pity comes too late! Turn around and face your fate. An eternity of _this~_" He pointed at his face, "Before your eyes."

Didn't he understand that his face didn't bother me? Yes, it wasn't the handsomest face in Paris, but it certainly wasn't something to be repulsed by, at least now that I had seen it once or twice.

He took my hand in both of his, and placed the sparkling ring in the middle of my palm. He folded my fingers around it, more gently than he had been a minute before. I wished I could answer him without hurting his fragile heart more than I already had, but I found there was no reply to his proposal. Instead, I pulled the veil from my head and walked to a mirror that was covered by a sheet.

"This haunted face holds no horror for me now. It's in your soul that the true distortion lies," I told him as gently as I could. I could change that distortion. Erik was not as bloodthirsty as many thought, and did not kill for just the sake of killing. I just had to get his temper under control.

He looked away from me and over to the gate.

"Wait, I think my dear, we have guests!" he told me, wicked glee electrifying his gaze. I looked over at the gate and saw both Raoul and Meg clinging to the bars.

"Meg! Raoul!" I cried horrified, running forwards. Meg forced a smile, which came out as more of a grimace. I gestured for her to go, but she shook her head.

"I'm not deserting you again," she promised, filling me with bittersweet gratefulness. Erik seemed to ignore Meg for the time being, turning all his attentions to Raoul.

"Sir, this is indeed an unparalleled delight! I had rather hoped that you would come and now my wish comes true. You have truly made my night!" He had walked down the stairs to where I stood, and put his arm, in a very husband-like way, around me. I gasped with surprise and struggled away.

"Let me go," I hissed, swatting his hand. This was not the time and place for affection. Meg lunged forward at the bars, much more protective than Raoul.

"Free her! Do what you like only free her!" Meg cried, reaching through the bars at me and I reached back for a moment. Raoul obviously did not like to be left out of this plight.

"Have you no pity?" he added, for good measure. Erik simply released me from under his arm and gave me a dry look. I resisted the urge to return it.

"Your lover makes a passionate plea," he muttered, although it had been Meg doing most of the pleading.

"Please, Meg it's useless. You too, Raoul," I added, for he had been making attempts to beg Erik, though not very good ones. Meg seemed very desperate for my freedom at this point.

"She's my best friend! I love her like a sister! Does that mean nothing? I love her!" Meg shouted at him bravely, and Raoul nodded as Erik turned his gaze back to me, which I avoided at all costs.

"Yes, show some compassion!" Raoul yelled, getting a bit overconfident.

Erik rounded on him angrily.

"The world showed no compassion to me!" he growled back, silencing Raoul for the time being. I resisted the urge to comfort him. I could give Erik compassion, but he certainly wasn't making it easy.

Meg was in tears and literally hung off the bars. I felt sorry for her. Erik would not listen to her cries.

"Christine, Christine!" she called, beating at the portcullis with her frail hands. Raoul looked up at Erik who had walked to a nearby lever.

"May I see her?" Raoul asked, which I thought was a foolish question. There wasn't a chance in the world that Erik would let him in.

To my greatest surprise, Erik hissed, "Be my guest, sir," and pulled the lever.

The gate slowly began to rise and Meg darted under the ascending spikes and into the lair. Raoul however, took his sweet time, walking in, as if it were his own home.

Meg nearly ran into Erik in her haste and backed up sufficiently, flattening herself against a wall. He had no eyes for her though, his gaze on Raoul, so focused I thought a hole would burn through Raoul's thick head.

I could tell Erik hadn't let him in without good reason. It was never this simple.

He spread his arms in a mockingly hospitable way that Raoul did not see as he strode through the water to meet him.

"Monsieur, I bid you welcome. Did you think that I would harm her? Why should I make her pay for the sins which are yours?" Erik reached down in the water as the portcullis shut behind Raoul who turned to look behind him.

Meg, who had surmised she wouldn't be targeted just yet, skittered over to me, but stopped dead as I gasped.

Behind her, Erik had lifted a Punjab Lasso from the water and was now throttling Raoul violently with it as he tied him to the metal gate. Meg screamed and ran over to me, clutching onto my waist tightly. I held onto her as Erik bellowed at Raoul so loudly it rattled my eardrums from across the room.

"Order your fine horses now! Raise up your hand to the level of your eyes! Nothing can save you now, except perhaps Christine!" He had finished binding Raoul and now turned on me as savagely as a wild dog. Meg fluttered away from my side and cowered on the steps beside me, but I stayed put, allowing him to scream his heart out at me.

"Start a new life with me! Buy his freedom with your love! Refuse me and you send your lover to his death! This is the choice~ this is the point of no return!" he thundered, looking completely insane at this point.

There was silence between us, broken only by Raoul's pants and Meg's whimpers. She tried to scurry down the stairs, but Erik stopped her with a point of his finger.

"You, Miss Giry, will stay right _there_," he told her, deadly serious, and she obeyed, sinking to a sitting position fearfully. His gaze flickered back to me. I shook my head, a look of horrified shock still written across it.

"The tears I might have shed for your dark fate grow cold and turn to tears of hate!" I hated that he had forced me into this situation. If I chose him, he would only believe that it was to save Raoul. And if I chose otherwise, he would kill Raoul. The Erik that had once been there would not have put me through this. Why couldn't he come back?

Raoul said something, but my thoughts over took it, and I felt a few tears fall down my cheeks. I brushed them away angrily. I would not cry again!

"Say you love him and my life is over!" Raoul yelled at me.

_That makes my choice much easier_, I thought bitterly, and I looked at Meg who still watched Erik tie a new rope around Raoul's neck so he could strangle him more gruesomely if need be.

"For either way you choose you cannot win!" Both my lovers sang to me, one full of rage, the other scared to death. I could not blame Raoul.

Inside, I knew no matter what I chose I would regret it. Again it would be my fault. Always my fault!

"So do you end your days with me? Or do you send him to his _grave_?" Erik emphasized the latter word as he gave Raoul a taste of what might come. Raoul screamed quite pathetically as the rope tightened around his neck.

"Why make her lie to you to save me?" he growled in response, as Erik strode away spitefully. I was not sure if that was true. Would it be lying to Erik if I told him I loved him? Was it possible that I felt nothing for Erik? Or did I love both of them?

"Angel of Music, you deceived me," I sang to him. He had deceived me, but did it really matter any more?

"His life is now the prize which you must earn!" he roared at me, speaking the first fact of the night. Yes, I had to earn Raoul's life, but was the life I put myself into worth it?

"Don't throw away your life for my sake!" Raoul cried, but as Erik looked away from him, Raoul mouthed, "Throw it away."

I looked at him in shock. What was he saying? But the words were gone and were being replaced by fully formed ones.

"I fought so hard to free you," he pleaded with me. I bit my cheek. Meg had fought much harder than Raoul had and he wanted to give away my life for his?

"You've past the point of no return," Erik murmured, softer than he had before. I dared to think the angel in him had returned, but with a quick glance I knew it hadn't.

"Angel of Music, you deceived me. I gave my mind blindly," I whispered.

He had kept me quite safe, considering I had stumbled into his world so violently. Though I had been blind, masked by darkness, the view with Erik hadn't been terrible. Every time I was with him, my fears disappeared. I didn't sit alone crying, or shaking with anxiety. I would be calm, even happy. All I wanted was to be that happy again. Would I still be with Erik?

"You try my patience. Make your choice!" he growled, an irked smile on his lips.

Slowly, I looked at Meg, whose eyes were as full of wonder, like a child in a candy store, but not in a happy sort of way. I wasn't surprised that she was quivering slightly. I certainly was.

"I'm sorry," I mouthed and her expression fell, knowing what I meant. She made to stand up but I shook my head and she remained sitting, though tears now fell from her blue eyes.

I looked over into the other pair of blue eyes in the room. Raoul widened his eyes in a "get on with it" sort of way, and I couldn't believe how selfish he was. He was on the brink of death, and still had it in him to order me around!

Still, I knew could not bring myself to dispose of a human life, though the aspect was beginning to seem preferable.

I gave Raoul a little grimace, which he tried to return, but coughed up phlegm instead.

I looked into Erik's brilliantly green eyes. With a jolt, I realized something other than fury was within his gaze. Deep, deep inside the enigma of his eyes, everything was clear.

Erik hadn't changed. After everything I had put him through, his heart surely torn into a thousand pieces by now, he still loved me as passionately as the night we first met.

And I still loved Erik.

Slowly, I began to walk towards him, allowing all of my pity to seep into my gaze and roll down my cheeks in tears. He deserved every drop.

"Pitiful creature of darkness, what kind of life have you known?" As I approached him, he became less and less guarded, until he was as vulnerable as any child. His grip on the lasso was loosening slightly.

"God, give me courage to show you, you are not alone!" Taking the ring out of my hand, I slid it onto my finger just before I reached him. Leaning close to his face, that beautiful face, I caught his lips in mine, kissing him for what I knew was the very first time in his life. He was stunned for a moment, simply letting me kiss him, before returning the kiss with equal desire, so much that my knees nearly buckled.

It was one kiss, not a very monumental moment in any average life. Raoul and I had exchanged many kisses, and I had not given them so much as a second thought. But this was different, and we both knew it wasn't simply a kiss.

In Erik's arms, I felt safe. I knew he would accept me for what I was, even if it was a clumsy little girl. I would not be hurt for my natural flaws and imperfections, and I wouldn't hurt him. I suddenly realized my feelings for him were not pity.

I loved him.

I pulled back, looking into his eyes again.

My angel was back, and he looked so full of ecstasy that I could not resist kissing him again. I found that this time I could kiss him more earnestly than before, and deepened it further than I thought I could.

I did not regret my choice. I was no prisoner, quite the opposite. Here in his arms, Erik and I were one.

We had both changed. He was no longer the dreaded Opera Ghost, bent on causing destruction and terrorizing every last being that dared set foot on his domain, and I was not the subdued, innocent damsel who could be thrown around without protest. Our masks were gone, and now there was only one role for us to play.

We were Erik and Christine, and would be forever.

We broke apart and I looked into his eyes. I was ready now, no qualms stood in my way. Father may have wanted me to marry Raoul, but I was willing to forsake that commitment for my love with Erik to prosper.

I found, however, that he was crying, and not with joy. For a moment, I didn't say anything, concern silencing me. I could not take his despair any longer.

"Erik…? Wh- Erik…" He pulled away from me and I felt my smile fall. Something was wrong.

I tried to follow, but he pushed me away. Around us, the sounds of a mob echoed, but I still didn't realize what the meaning of this was.

"Take her, forget me. Forget all of this!" he urged, walking away. I looked around at him, feeling tears fall down my face as they did on his. I watched him go for a moment in confusion, before someone took my arm. I looked over to see Meg standing beside me.

"He's letting you go," she murmured gently, somehow understanding at least a little of the turmoil I was in. I looked back to Erik.

"No," I breathed, unable to contain the word that burned through my mind.

"Leave me alone. Forget all you've seen!" I would never leave him alone ever again. He would not live without me, or I without him. I made to run up the stairs after him, but Meg held me fast.

"Release Raoul first," she told me, "Then go to him." I nodded, seeing this was the best course of action.

I ran to where Raoul was, and slipped the rope up and off his neck. He drew in a great gasp of air, trying to breathe. I pulled the rest of the ropes looser until he wriggled free.

"Go now, don't let them find you!" Erik yelled from behind me. I would be with him in a moment. I first had to sort things out with Raoul.

"Take the boat, swear to me never to tell the secret you know of the Angel in Hell!"

I looked up at Raoul and he gave me an accusing stare.

"Why the hell did you kiss him?" he asked, and I was about to retort, but he threw me against him roughly in what appeared as an embrace but felt like a prison.

"Go now! Go now and leave me!" I heard Erik's voice cry out in anguish.

I grimaced and freed myself from Raoul.

"I have to go to him," I whispered, but he caught my wrist.

"You're not going anywhere, Little Lotte," he hissed, pulling me toward the gate. Meg's slim hands pushed us apart.

"She can do what she wants!" she barked at him, and I gave her a little smile.

"You don't mean you love him? _Him_? We have a betrothal, if you recall?" I paused for a moment, looking down. He was right.

"_Father_ won't be happy if you refuse me, will he? He'll never love you!" he told me and I felt a sob choke me slightly. I swallowed it as Meg clenched her fists.

"Don't listen to him, Christine, don't listen!" But I had already listened.

"It's your choice, Christine!" I looked at Meg, my father's last words ringing in my ear and in the cavern.

It was my choice.

I looked to Raoul, outraged realization seeping through my veins.

"You lied. He never betrothed me to anyone. _You lied_," I whispered, feeling used. All those beatings I had taken, thinking my father had chosen this for me, and it had been a lie!

He gave me a wry little smile, which sent fiery blood coursing through me.

"It landed me a betrothal with you, and I'm not going to allow you to back out on me now, Lotte," he snapped, dragging me to the portcullis. I slapped him across the face.

"You bastard!" I snarled, as he fell back into the water, with a loud splash. He attempted to stand, but Meg jumped on top of him, pinning him to the ground.

"I'll hold him for as long as I can. Go!" she cried, pulling his shirt over his head to hinder his vision.

I nodded, wading quickly through the lake and climbing onto the shore.

Pausing at the bottom, I looked back at where Meg and Raoul struggled. Meg was dousing Raoul with water, yelling, "That's for my best friend, you stupid fop!"

I looked up the stairs at the open door. Soft sobbing could be heard from within. I looked up to the ceiling, but was seeing far beyond that.

_This is my decision, Papa, _I thought, and stepped up the stairs to Erik's bedroom.


	19. Chapter 19

**(A/N: Just letting you guys know, this is NOT the end of the story. There will be an Epilogue. Just wanted to clarify that, so people can read the whole story, and not erase it from their memories before it's finished. Ok, on with the next chapter. Please R&R!) **

**CHAPTER NINETEEN**

**Erik POV**

I stared at the music box I had made soon after Antoinette brought me here.

Christine was gone and the only one to blame for that was myself. I had let her go. She had kissed me, kissed me! For one fleeting moment, I had been loved.

But I had let her go. I knew she could never belong to me. I loved her, and she had shown love back, but I knew keeping her against her will would bring Hell upon both of us. She chose me, but I could not force her into this horrible life. She would be much happier with Raoul.

I felt a twinge of jealousy as I thought of the name. I couldn't be satisfied to know an utter fop would be the one caressing my Christine. _My_ Christine.

It had been _my_ hard work, _my_ devotion that caused him to notice her. I almost wished I hadn't been so quick to push her into the spotlight.

What was done was done. Everything I had worked for my whole life, every dream I ever had the audacity to dream had been shattered until there was nothing left. Nothing but the darkness.

I gazed at the contented look on the lead monkey's face as it tapped cymbals together in perfect rhythm. I created it to remind me of a toy I once owned, which brought me my only joy as a child. I lost that too, swept away with the frightening gypsy childhood I had once known.

And now, after all these years since I had fled here, it would end the same way it began. With a mob, keen on revenge. But this time, I would not run, and I would not hide.

_Masquerade, paper faces on parade. Masquerade, hide your face so the world will never find you._

I noticed a figure in a white dress standing near the doorway. I looked into Christine's beautiful face that gazed at me with pity. It amazed me she could continue to be compassionate to such a pathetic creature like me, after all I had put her through.

"Christine, I love you," I breathed, knowing that it was an utterly hopeless statement. She would never…

She walked towards me, her fingers around the ring. I felt my heart lift with hope. Was she really choosing me? A smile spread across my face, but didn't linger.

She stopped, and I watched as she removed the ring that looked so perfect around her delicate finger.

She reached for my hand and I automatically moved it to hers. The touch of her skin against mine sent shivers through me and I let out a shaky breath.

She placed the ring in my palm, curling my hand around it like I had less than a half an hour ago. I looked at her, tears falling down my cheek.

It was over.

Her hazel eyes were full of empathy, as she let go of my hand.

"I'm so sorry for what I've done to you," she whispered, and I looked away from her with more regret than ever.

There was nothing to forgive, nothing she had done wrong. I put my head in my hands, sobs racking my body.

This is how it had always been and would always be. I would remain in my prison of solitude, until sweet death took me, which would be as soon as the mob arrived.

I looked at the music box. Even its music did not comfort me, but something else in this room could.

Christine remained, rivers of tears flowing down her cheeks. Why would she want to stay here, when her _precious_ Vicomte waited for her?

"G-go…" I ordered, trying to muster a steady tone. She shook her head, her expression overflowing with sympathy. She reached towards me, but I drew back from her.

"No… please, Christine. Don't touch me. You've given me more than I could ask for already. Leave before the mob comes," I murmured, no force behind the command.

She continued forward, until she reached my side. She sat down beside me, and I shifted away. Softly, she began to sing.

"You gave me your music, made my song take wing. And now, how I've repaid you, denied you and betrayed you."

Her voice was heavenly, so pure, that I had to sing back to her.

"I was bound to love you, when I heard you sing." I turned away from her. I knew she didn't want to hear my pitiful confessions, no one did.

I remembered vowing to never cry again when I first took on the persona of the _Phantom of the Opera_. I was sure the mob would have a good long laugh when they discovered the Phantom to be a sobbing waste of human flesh.

"They'll kill you if you stay, Erik," she told me shakily, "They'll kill you."

"So be it. Hell is nothing to what life has been," I muttered, looking away from her. She let out a soft sound of pity, and made to touch my shoulder.

"_Don't_, Christine. Staying for my sake is not necessary. Go and live your fairy tale life, be happy with what you've chosen," I told her, pushing her gently away, but she resisted.

"I want to stay, Erik."

I faltered, looking up at her.

"What did you say?"

"I don't want to leave. I've been terrible to you. You have every right to punish me and scorn me for the things I've done to you. You only wanted love, and I hurt you every time you asked." She reached for my hand, but this time I didn't pull away.

Taking my hand, she came closer. She was almost right up against me, and I couldn't help the shiver that ran up my spine.

"You've always been there when I was alone and frightened. When the other ballerinas laughed at me, I knew you'd be there to comfort me and that you wouldn't judge me for being strange~"

"You're not strange, Christine," I murmured automatically, and she smiled slightly.

"And you're not either. Erik, I've been deceived by what everyone tells me I should want, when all I've ever truly wanted was right before me."

She slipped her hand out of mine, and cupped my face gently. I looked into her gorgeous eyes that for once didn't hold any fear.

"This is my choice," she told me, and her lips caught mine. Realization flooded me. _I_ was her choice.

I kissed her back fervently, wanting to draw in as much affection as she would give me.

"Christine!" Raoul's voice barked from the door, and we broke apart. I glared at Raoul, that fop, standing in my room. He seemed equally as livid as I was.

"What are you doing?" he yelled at her, and she flinched slightly.

"Raoul… I…" She pulled away from me, her gaze not leaving Raoul's. As she did, her dress slipped a little, and I could see a long bruise running up her shoulder blade. I didn't have to wonder where that came from, for Raoul grabbed my Christine roughly and pulled her to her feet.

"You wanted to play me for a fool didn't you?" he growled at her, his knuckles shining white as he gripped her arms. She shrugged him off.

"Leave, Raoul. I won't be taken by force."

He took a swing at her with the back of his hand, and she attempted to defend herself. It caught her across the cheek and she staggered backwards.

I shot to my feet, rage flooding me. So this is how he kept a hold on his fiancé!

"Please, Raoul, don't do this," she moaned, holding onto her cheek, which was much redder than usual.

Raoul pulled her up by the shoulders and I rushed forward. Throwing Raoul to the ground, I held Christine against me.

"She didn't have to play you for a fool, you already are one!" I hissed at him, as he stood up.

"Oh, Erik, please don't…"

"Oh, yes, she really wants you. I thought it was illegal for people to marry animals?" Raoul retorted, and I felt my anger burn deeper.

I let go of Christine, taking the cord which controlled the curtain, and pulling it long enough to make a Punjab Lasso.

"Would you care to repeat that, Monsieur?" I asked, pulling the cord and holding it taut. His face paled a little, remembering the sensation of strangling I had practiced on him a short while ago.

"No, Erik, don't!" Christine cried, attempting to pull the lasso from me, but I hardly noticed her, blind with wrath. I advanced on Raoul and he copied, his face red with fury.

Christine pushed herself in the middle of us, trying to hold us apart. We struggled against her, like dogs pulling on the end of a leash, desperate to get at the other one.

"Come now, Phantom, you're not strong enough to get past a girl?" Raoul laughed, though he was having quite a bit of trouble himself.

"Please, you can't get past your own ego!" I snarled, breaking through Christine and lunging at Raoul with the lasso. My urge to kill was kicking in, and I was rapidly losing control.

Wrapping my newly fashioned lasso around his neck, I began to throttle him violently as he writhed beneath me.

"Erik, stop! Please, Erik! ERIK!" Christine snapped, her beautiful voice, for once, hostile. Her tone shocked me, and she ripped the lasso out of my hands. For a moment, we simply stared at each other, both startled by her sudden strength.

She dropped the lasso, her breathing shaky as she regained her sweet timbre.

"Please… not again." I understood what she meant, and my desire to slaughter Raoul melted away. She dropped to the floor a little ways away from me, and covered her face with her hand, massaging her temple.

I moved towards her, forgetting Raoul for the time being. She looked up at me as I approached and allowed me to embrace her gently. I stroked her curly head of hair that lay against my chest.

"Forgive me… but I couldn't let him…" She shook her head, waving away my apology.

"I know, but there are better ways of doing things," she murmured. I let go of her slowly, shame creeping up the back of my neck.

She pulled away, facing Raoul, who had just stood up.

"Leave, Raoul. You've hurt me enough," she told him, indicating her body, which I now could see was riddled with bruises that were surely not there when I last saw her. He didn't move, obviously stunned.

"You're going to stay here with _him_? You love a monster?"

Rage welled up within me, though I knew it was true, but I held back my urge to strangle him again. Christine stared defiantly at him.

"A man who uses my father's memory for his own purposes is the real monster!"

I felt a smirk curl my lips as he stuttered, trying to defend himself against her, to no avail.

"Now go," she ordered, in a way that greatly resembled some of my commands.

She pointed to the door, like a judge giving a final sentence. Raoul was pretending ignorance, and went to take hold of her again.

With reflexes quicker than a snake, she pushed her hands against his chest and sent him crashing into the wall behind him. His head collided against the stone, and he crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

I stared for a moment, before looking at Christine who looked surprised herself. She glanced back at me, and I shut my open mouth. She smiled bashfully, biting her lip.

"I didn't think that would work," she told me truthfully. I grinned at her, quite impressed by her handiwork.

"Apparently it did," I laughed, still a little overawed.

She smiled, and walked to me. Leaning into me, I embraced her tenderly, burying my face in her silky hair.

She pulled away, looking into my eyes.

"Erik, you're the only one I have left~" I knew what she was going to say, and I stopped her, clasping my hands around hers.

"Christine, I don't want to force you into something you don't want. I love you more than anything, and I always will. But, if I'm not what you want, I understand. I want you to be happy, even without me," I murmured, letting go of her hands.

A smile spread across her face, making her look more beautiful than ever. She threw her arms around my shoulders, and I slid mine around her waist, wishing I could hold her forever.

"Thank you for understanding that I'm not just a prize," she whispered, pulling away from me slightly, "But I'm not leaving you here."

Exhilaration rushed through me.

"You mean…" She nodded, her smile big as my own. She took the hand that was curled around the ring and opened it. The ring gleamed up at us, and she took it from me, putting it on her finger.

For a moment, all I could do was stare. All my life I wished for someone to feel compassion for me that wasn't pity, and now… could it really be coming true?

"I love you, Erik," she whispered and I felt a tear roll down my cheek. I saw her expression change into concern as she noticed the tear. She was about to say something, but I pressed a finger over her lips.

"I love you too," I breathed back, and kissed her.

A soft intake of breath reached my ears and I broke away from her. We looked around to see what had made it.

Standing by the threshold, Meg stood crying, her hand clasped over her mouth.

"Meg? What's wrong?" Christine asked, leaving my side for the moment. Meg shook her head, removing her hand. Though thick pearly tears rained down her cheeks, she smiled so big I could see all of her teeth.

"Oh," she sniffed, wiping tears from her eyes. "I just love a happy ending!"


	20. Chapter 20

**(A/N: Well, this is it, guys! The final chapter. I'd like to thank all of my awesome reviewers: Pearlmaidenredskyla, dark lili, KiKiKaKes, Tina95, FaithIsDelusion, Acadia24, ForgottenAngerCourter, Lithia Malfoy, Little Margarita, MasqueradeBall, Oynxx Rayne, MARIANAStrench, chirachi, Unknownred, Serpentinia Malfoy, .sand and InuYashaFreak. Phew! I made it through all of you! Well, enough of boring old me, let's get on with the show!) **

**EPILOGUE**

**Christine POV**

The audience burst into applause as I dipped a curtsy.

"Bravissima!" I heard Andre call from his private box and I smiled at him. He and Firmin, though they had every reason in the world to leave, decided to stay as owners of the Opera Populaire, mainly because they didn't have to pay for the renovations.

It took a full year, but finally the opera house had been restored to its former glory. Tonight had been the grand opening, and the crowd was showing much appreciation for the company's long months of work.

The curtain swung closed, and all the performers relaxed from their positions. I felt a hand on my shoulder and I looked around. Antoinette Giry smiled at me. 

"You did very well tonight. Erik will meet you after you've changed," she told me, pressing a ruby red rose in my hand. Wrapped around the stem was a black ribbon, a sure clue to whom it was from.

She patted my shoulder, before her beady eyes fell upon a pair of ballerinas.

"You two! Sloppiness is not the expectation at the Opera Populaire!" she reprimanded, and I grinned. Antoinette definitely hadn't changed.

"Miss Daae?" I hadn't heard that name in a while, and I looked around.

Though Erik and I were married, we had both decided it was best I kept my maiden name. For one matter, Erik didn't have a last name, and for another with the amount of gossipers in the opera house, the news of our marriage would spread like wildfire.

Philippe de Chagny stood before me meekly, looking around at the rafters.

I knew why. He and his brother shared an uncomfortable likeness, a likeness Erik detested. Philippe had quickly learned to stay away from my husband ever since he had come once with Meg down to the lair. He certainly hadn't seen the best side of Erik that day.

"Good evening, Philippe. Did you enjoy the performance?" I asked, staying abnormally calm for his sake. Philippe was a very shy man, and the slightest discomfort would discourage him.

"Er, yes… Do you know where Meg is?" he asked nervously.

I smiled. Philippe had been attached to Meg ever since he met her, and Meg felt very much the same way. In fact, Meg was almost as jealous about Philippe as Erik was about me. She had become very possessive one time when I was talking alone with Philippe on the balcony, and I had to remind her my experience with his brother.

"I can hardly look at Raoul, Meg. Even if I could, would I be married to Erik if I was infatuated with Philippe?"

She had lightened up on me sufficiently after that incident, but was still fairly aggressive with any other woman. Philippe didn't mind that. He was too shy to talk to anyone else besides Meg and I.

"I think she's in the dressing room. Why?" I asked. Philippe would usually never risk being out in a throng of people. It had to be a special occasion.

He grimaced slightly, and looked behind him.

"Promise you won't tell anyone, especially my brother? He won't like it that I'm mingling with 'commoners'," he muttered, and I nodded.

"I promise." He sighed, and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a little box, and opened it. A gold band with a silvery pearl gleamed up at me and I gasped.

"Oh, Philippe! You're going to ask her to marry you?" I hugged him, and he patted my back awkwardly, "Congratulations!"

"Thank you… just don't tell anyone, alright?" he asked, glancing around to see if anyone had noticed my sudden outburst. I put a finger to my lips.

"My lips are sealed. Good luck!" I whispered and for once, he smiled.

I watched him hurry off into the crowd, a couple of ballerinas looking back at him as he passed.

I grinned. Meg would be so excited. I couldn't wait to jump around like an idiot with her, like we had before my wedding.

I noticed a small girl dressed up for a night out watching me in admiration. I remembered being like her when I was younger, looking up at the sopranos with awe. I beckoned her over, and her little face lit up.

She hurried over to me and I smiled at her.

"You were really good," she told me, poking her tongue through the holes in her teeth.

"Why, thank you! Is it your first time coming to the Opera Populaire?" She nodded, her grin so big it nearly reached her ears.

"I wanna be a singer just like you!" she informed me, tucking her chin to her chest bashfully. I knelt down so I could look her in the eye.

"I'm sure you will be. Just practice a lot." She nodded, but looked at me thoughtfully.

"My older sister, Constance, told me you had an angle. Do you have an angle?" I smiled as she mispronounced the word. I leaned closer, feigning secrecy.

"I do have an Angel, but it's a secret. Can you keep that secret?" I asked, watching her face grow more and more excited.

"Of course! Oh, boy! A secret! Constance! Constance, I have a secret!" I watched her run away to her older sister, who was talking to Andre. I knew she wouldn't be able to keep that secret for long.

"Well, well. If it isn't the monster's bride," a familiar conceited voice sneered behind me. My smile fell.

I looked around to see Raoul. A regal jacket with gold buttons polished to perfection hung off his shoulder in what he thought was an attractive way, but it wasn't really working for me.

"And if it isn't the man I specifically requested not to attend. How nice of you to come anyway," I retorted with a wicked smile. Anger flashed across his face.

"How dare you not invite me! I am one of the most respected aristocrats in all~" I cut him off coolly, looking over his shoulder.

"Oh, hello, Erik. Nice of you to join us." He whipped around wildly, raising his fists into a fighting stance. No one was there, making him appear like a complete idiot.

I laughed serenely as he seethed, clenching and unclenching his hands.

"Flighty little thing, aren't you? Almost like a…" I glanced at the crest embossed on his jacket, "Pigeon."

He burned with indignation and embarrassment. He was so red in the face, he resembled a squashed tomato.

"How dare you insult my family! This has been our symbol for generations!" he told me, deeply offended.

I grinned.

"Well, it's about time one of your generations changed it," I laughed, and he began to stammer the beginnings of threats.

"I'll… I'll…" He stuttered, but I cut him off before he could think of a retort.

"You'll what? Cry to Mommy and Daddy?" I taunted in a fake baby voice. It was so easy to rile him.

"At least I have a Mommy and Daddy!" he growled back. I felt my smile evaporate instantly, the words cutting deep into my heart.

Raoul seemed to realize how harsh his words were, but did not grow apologetic. Instead, a wicked smile grew on his face and he laughed softly.

"Well, I'm sure Daddy-kins is proud of his little girl, holed up in an opera house with a murderer!" he hissed, taking this joke much too far.

I felt tears form in my eyes, blurring my vision.

"How could you?" I whispered, and fled from him. I kept the tears inside me as I passed Andre and Firmin, who talked to the newest patron.

"Ah, Miss Daae! May I introduce you to~" But I had already rushed past them, biting my lip to suppress the tears. I would not cry… I would not cry!

I pushed through a throng of ballerinas, who gave me dirty looks as I fled.

"Isn't that Christine Daae?" I heard one of them say, but I didn't look back at them.

I hurried down the stairs to the chapel. Falling to my knees, I pressed my hands against my face, trying to force away the urge to cry.

I sat in silence, Raoul's words replaying in my head.

"_I'm sure Daddy-kins is proud of his little girl." _

I felt a warm presence beside me, but did not look up. I knew who it was.

"I'm beginning to forget him, Erik," I murmured, slightly muffled by my hands. "I can't remember his face as well as I used to. I can only see him clearly in this picture, but he's so unhappy here. I know he used to smile, but I just can't remember!"

I felt warm hands slide around my shoulders, rubbing them soothingly. I pulled his arms around me tighter, laying my head back on his chest.

"Don't leave me," I whispered as I felt him push his face into my black curls.

"Never," he murmured, kissing my cheek tenderly. I turned to look at him as he pulled away, pressing my hand against his chest. His emerald eyes gazed back at me from behind his mask, his strong arms still holding me securely.

I made to wipe my tears away, but he beat me to it. His thumb caressed my cheek gently as he pulled me into him. I laid my head against his chest, closing my eyes. I could hear his steady heartbeat and I began to feel my tears dry up.

"I'm sorry about this. It's just…" I looked back at the picture of my father again, sighing slightly. "I'm not sure if Raoul was right."

He pulled away, looking back into my eyes.

"Your father would be very proud of you, Christine," Erik assured me, reading my worries perfectly. I felt the hints of a smile pull at my lips.

"You think so?" He cupped my cheek.

"I know so. You can't trust that fop to be right about anything," he muttered, a slight edge of bitterness in his tone. I smiled.

"He knows how to do business," I pointed out, and Erik chuckled as he stood up.

"Please, I'm better at business than he is." I took the hand he offered me, and pulled myself up.

"You are?" I had never thought of Erik in business before.

"Of course! I'm paid twenty thousand francs a month for making fops wet themselves. I'd say I've got a better business than Raoul de Chagny."

I laughed, taking his arm. He certainly was good at his business.

"I suppose that means I'm your assistant," I giggled, and he grinned.

"Yes, we could call you that. Well, my darling _assistant_, would you be kind enough to attend the Opera Populaire's grand opening ball with me?" he asked, leading me from the room. I beamed at him, laying my head against his shoulder as he slipped his arm around my waist.

"Of course I will, as long as you don't threaten anyone with a sword, like you did at the last ball, Monsieur Phantom," I teased, and the hint of a smile passed through his expression.

"The Phantom will not be attending this evening. Your consort tonight is Monsieur O.G., the charming tutor who won your heart while the renovations were underway," he informed me, and I laughed. He was such a natural scriptwriter. It was easy to see how he had written Don Juan Triumphant so quickly.

"I shall try to remember that if I mingle with the "commoners" at any point in the evening, but I'm sure Monsieur O.G. will be too jealous to share his precious ingénue with anyone else," I laughed, and he smirked sheepishly.

"I'm sure he will be," Erik replied, squeezing my hand. I could feel the gold band he wore on his finger press against my palm and I glanced at my own ring. Inscribed into each ring was the same word: Always.

We approached the doors leading to the top of the grand staircase. I looked over at Erik. He hadn't been in public since that fateful night one long year ago, and I wasn't sure what his reaction to this was. I saw him bite the inside of his cheek, and I patted his other hand.

He looked at me fleetingly, before returning his gaze to the floor.

"One hundred patrons… the same as last time…" I heard him murmured to himself, and I gripped his hand tighter.

"You look very handsome, Erik," I told him truthfully, pushing a strand of his thin black hair behind his ear. He looked up at me with surprise before kissing my forehead gently.

"You as well… Christine?" I nodded, to show him I was listening. "Thank you."

I knew he was thanking me for so much more than just the compliment. He thanked me for understanding him, though it might be hard, and for doing what no one else had. I truly loved him for everything he was, deformity or not.

"Not at all, my Angel," I replied. He smiled at me and pushed open the door to the grand foyer.

Below us a sea of swirling people danced to a lilting waltz, conducted by Monsieur Reyer. Everyone around us was wearing masks, and I supposed it was a Masquerade Ball, a smart move on Erik's part. My face felt unnaturally bare, being the only one not wearing a mask, but I tried to ignore the sensation.

I stood at the edge of the balcony, looking at the people below us.

I could see some of the ballerinas that had snuck in, creeping around the edge of the room conspicuously. Madame Giry was storming towards one pair of girls, like a bull that had just seen red.

Messieurs Andre and Firmin stood near the dance floor, chatting up a pair of girls with multiple layers of make-up on their faces to cover up any blotches they might have.

On the other side of the room, Carlotta Guidecelli was talking the ear off her new consort, Signor Atello, whom she had met in Italy. He had become a replacement for Piangi, and fortunately for him, didn't seem to mind having a complaining prima donna as a lover.

In the middle of the ballroom, Meg and Philippe were whirling in a circle with the other couples. They didn't break eye contact, other than when Meg fluttered her eyelashes at him, causing him to blush pink. Even from this far away, I could see the glittering pearl resting on her finger.

A little ways away, Raoul stood in the middle of a pack of dreamy eyed girls, all gazing at him as if he was a statue of Adonis. I smirked as he puffed out his chest, taking a girl on each arm.

Erik looked down at me, a suspicious grin on his face, and I returned it, knowing what he wanted to do.

For no apparent reason, Raoul screamed, jumping about a foot in the air. I couldn't help but laugh, as he looked around wildly for the source of Erik's voice, which had just whispered in his ear.

His gaze rested on Erik and I, standing at the top of the staircase. He began to gesture at us, forgetting his gentlemanly air for the moment.

In response, I curtsied, which only seemed to enrage him further. Looking around at the girls at his left and right, Raoul offered to lead them away. They glanced at him in disgust and stalked of to other gentlemen.

Shooting me a dirty look, he stormed out of the ballroom. I felt Erik take my waist gently and I laid my head on his shoulder.

Everything was as it should have been at the Opera Populaire.


End file.
